Back to the Drawing Board
by Romantic Nerd
Summary: Jilliam and company in the pre-WWI world of intrigue, adventure, and espionage. Loosely based on Childers' novel Riddle of the Sands, William digs into why someone tried to kill him and enlists the help of friends along the way. M version.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: So, Back to Plan A

The excitement was palpable, so much so that neither of them had been able to sleep. Lovemaking this morning had solidified their already significant bond. Now the couple rushed about dressing for work, running late as usual. Because William had already placed the bags in the foyer, they headed down the stairs to breakfast with bundles of last-minute items piled in their arms.

"I'll put the milk bottles in the cooling bag you made _**right before**_ we take the carriage to the train tonight," Julia planned aloud to her spouse. "You're sure we can get some ice in Halifax?" she worried, _again_.

"I'm sure," came his patient answer.

William Jr. trailed behind his parents on the staircase. He, too, had his four-year-old hands full. Hopeful that his favorite toy firetruck would fit in the suitcase, he also carried a, rather beat-up – _albeit with love_ – stuffed rabbit. "I decided I wanna give my Blanco to my sister after all," he proudly declared.

Their son's decision halted them both in their tracks. William turned back to the tiny boy, finding him at eyelevel a few steps back. "Now my little man, that is very generous of you," he exclaimed with a bow.

"I'm sure it will help her feel welcomed," the youngster's mother piped in sharing the glow on her face. Julia paused to appreciate the velvety white rabbit. It had lost an eye, and, even though they had washed it multiple times in William's laundry cupboard, it was stained. And Julia couldn't help but think it must be the luckiest stuffed toy in the world to have been so very much loved, _almost loved to rags_ , by such a warm, wonderful boy as William Jr. _Still_ , there was a slight tweak of worry in her gut at imagining the looks on the nun's faces as her lovely son handed off such a _gift_ to his new sister. She shoved her chin proudly in the air. "Chelsea is quite fortunate to have such a kindhearted older brother as you," she declared.

William's eyes stalled on the large toy truck underneath the old wilted rabbit. Torn between the practical man he was, and the compassionate father he had found himself to be, he decided not to comment yet. Still, a sigh escaped his chest as he turned to look at Julia.

"Do you think we can make room for it?" she asked with a wrinkle in her face suggesting both doubt and a request. He marveled at their communication, certain she was _**not**_ referring to the little, plush rabbit.

Little William Jr. was bright ( _no surprise knowing his parents_ ) and knew exactly what was going on between them… knew his firetruck was in jeaopardy. "Please Daddy," his beautiful, young, voice called out, "Please!" ultimately deciding his father's internal debate and causing the grownup to start envisioning the current content of the three suitcases at the foot of the stairs… and the myriad of contents now in their arms, in various configurations inside the bags.

"I'm sure we can find a way to make it all fit," William offered. He imagined his son playing with the truck on the long, twenty-hour, train ride to Nova Scotia, and then he imagined the four-year-old asleep in Julia's arms, as they all continued down the stairs. William told himself that his little man would do both of these things, and much more, on this adventure to adopt his younger sister.

 _They had been trying to adopt a little infant girl since Julia had returned home from the hospital after her Cesarean section, defeated and depressed at the loss of their tiny daughter, already named Susana, whom had been miscarried at nearly five-months. The setback had been devastating for both parents, but eventually they healed and decided that there was a little girl out there in the world who desperately needed a good home, and so, they would go back to the original plan – Plan A – and adopt a child, a baby to be William Jr.'s little sister._

 _Julia wanted an infant girl, and they both admitted they wanted a daughter who looked like Julia, so they searched for a blond, blue-eyed infant girl. They had no idea how difficult it would be to find such a child, particularly, they had discovered, because Julia was a_ _ **working**_ _ **mother**_ _– despite their relative wealth, and both of them were so deeply involved with the dreaded_ _ **criminal element**_ _, and to top it all off, they were_ _ **Catholic**_ _._

 _Nearly a year after their undertaking had started, they had finally found a little girl at an orphanage that would accept them as parents, St. Joseph's Orphanage in Halifax Nova Scotia. They would meet at home right after Julia finished lecturing her Forensics class at the University, eat a quick dinner, pack up their final things – placing many of the last-minute items in the "cooler" William had invented – and catch the 8 PM train. They would not arrive in Halifax until 9 PM the next night. Then, the first thing in the morning after that, they were off to get their little girl – Chelsea!_

) (

The bounce in William's step seemed contagious as he crossed the bullpen for his office, prompting George to begin whistling once he had made his greetings and buried his nose back in the files he was re-organizing. On William's worktable rested a 30" X 18" box. It was double-lined wood, with an odd, gooey, and somewhat puffy, now-hardened, material stuffed in between the layers. The detective checked the texture of the stuffing, punching a triumphant fist quietly in the air with his satisfaction with the results. Now he would line the rubber strip along the top edge, about an inch deep so that the matching rubber strip in the lid would drop in place tight above it.

William glanced up at his blackboard to admire the plans for the device. Admittedly, it looked complicated. There was the design of the box, not very elaborate, but he believed it best to keep things simple when possible. But the making of the German polymer, that was another story. He had drawn out with the white chalk the long chains of styrene molecules in the sweetgum tree resin, as he imagined them hardened from the oily substance after a few days. He had planned every detail, temperature, humidity of environment, calculated the amount of expansion with the chemical reaction… all before ordering the gumtree resin over ten days ago – all so he could bring his baby daughter back on that long train ride with milk to drink. " _Well done_ ," he congratulated himself. He pictured the baby bottles full of white, creamy milk, and even some of the other items they would bring along, like cheese and carrots, packed in the cold, ice-packed "cooler." Anxiety lingered however, he noticed, just below the surface. _My God_ , he hoped they were up to the task of being the best parents they could possibly be for this little girl. He reassured himself… _They had done quite well with William Jr. He was a fine lad, a fine lad indeed!_

William clapped his hands together to change the subject. " _Lots to get done_ ," he coached himself, " _Best get to it."_

) (

This lecture, as with most of her others, inspired her. Julia packed up feeling high – confident – powerful and optimistic. " _These young students are so bright,_ " she marveled. At first, she remembered, she had worried about teaching young men, but now she found it absolutely thrilling. Even her male colleagues seemed to treat her with respect. After a lecture like the one she just gave, she wholeheartedly believed she deserved it. _Still_ , she wondered as she stepped out into the prestigious University hallway, how far would she have come along this path without William. He had always inspired her so. Pushed her to be better… And she him. Julia was unaware of the huge smile on her face.

Professor Carruthers, also having just finished lecturing, stepped out into the hall in front of her. "Dr. Ogden," he greeted, "Don't you look lovely tonight. I trust it went well."

"Oh yes, Professor…" Julia started to say, recognizing his friendly disapproval, prompting her to change his title of address, "John," she said with a nod. "The students found using dentition to identify the body quite exhilarating this evening," she explained. Spontaneously bursting into a giggle, she shared, with a secluded hush in her body language, "They even each had others examining their teeth!"

Professor Carruthers chuckled loudly in response. "Must've been quite a sight," he said, then added a bit more seriously, "Do you think they could identify each other by their teeth?"

"Perhaps," Julia gave somewhat skeptically. They walked side-by-side to the stairs and then down them, continuing their conversation. "I had told the class that the male canine is a fraction longer, relative to the neighboring teeth, than that of the female, and they were reaching into each other's mouths and measuring each other's teeth with a ruler. It was quite a sight. Gathered some supporting data for the theory, I'd say," Julia confided.

"Sounds like you have your next paper started then, Julia," the professor said cheerfully. He added, "Good luck," just as they parted.

) (

Later that evening on the train, William Jr. had been so well-behaved up until this point, but now, he was cranky and wailing that angry cry that was impossible not to grate on the nerves of every passenger in the, thankfully nearly empty, Pullman green sleeping car. The little boy had begged incessantly to be allowed to play with his toy firetruck on the aisle floor, and then having been given permission, had proceeded to roll the siren-blaring ( _sound-effects annoyingly provided by the truck owner_ ) vehicle down the entire aisle.

Admittedly having had lost his patience with his son's ' _ **rudeness**_ ,' his use of the word earning him an eye-roll from Julia, topping off his mood, William had hurried down the aisle, scooped up both the boy and the truck, deposited the screaming child in his wife's lap and stuffed the truck back in the suitcase in the overhead storage section a few rows back. He then sat down next to them with a huff. Embarrassment quickly gurgled and perked inside of him… Almost immediately, he regretted his behavior.

Julia's voice next to him, perfect in the tone of its calmness and its strength, comforted and reassured. William closed his eyes and imagined her soft lips so close to the boy's thick, wavy black hair. "Take a deep breath, little one," she seemed to sing. "It's alright. You're just very, very tired, hmm?" she asked. William imagined his son nodding, wiping his runny nose. "We are on such an exciting adventure and you so want to see it all, don't you? Don't want to miss a thing, hmm? Afraid you would miss something important, if you fell asleep…"

William noticed his own body softening with her soothing. He took her advice, as did his son, he could tell because the crying had stopped. He took a deep breath. _My God he loved her._

"Sorry," William said, his voice cracking with its dryness, his head still tilted back against the seat, his eyes still closed. He sighed and shifted his position to turn and face the little four-year-old in Julia's lap. "I'm sorry little man," he repeated, firmer this time. He reached out and rubbed his son's back. "Your Mommy's right. I should have thought of that… That you were tired." He leaned closer and said quietly, "I promise I'll wake you up if anything exciting happens, O.K? Do you think you can try to go to sleep?"

"O.K. Daddy," he replied.

Julia tucked him closer into her breasts…

William wondered at the perfection of the natural pillow…

And she gently stroked the boy's head. A tradition between them, she repeated her son's words admiringly back to his father, "O.K. Daddy." The couple shared a loving look.

"I love you," William mouthed to her, evoking a big smile.

"Daddy," William Jr.'s voice called from within his mother's bosom, "Can I have my rabbit?"

William Jr. reveled in the feeling of being temporarily sandwiched between his parents as his father leaned down over him and whispered in his ear, "Sure thing, little man." He moved to stand up and go get Blanco back in the suitcase, lifting an eyebrow at Julia. She responded with a silent giggle. He knew what she was thinking… " _He's only four_." Somehow such a reminder from her always managed to put things in perspective for him.

Before he stood, he leaned back over and whispered in her ear, "I know. I know. He's only four. But it seems our son is back to Plan A. I don't think that old, ratty, Blanco is getting a new Mommy tomorrow." Finding her irresistible, William kissed his wife's ear and whispered, "Though our little Chelsea is, and she's getting herself quite a good one at that," before he went and got his son his stuffed rabbit.

He adjusted Julia's seat so she could lie down with William Jr. and then he crawled up into the overhead sleeping compartment above her. William untied the curtain, enveloping the family together in their own sectioned-off unit. Not long after, it seemed that all of the Murdoch's trusted that they wouldn't miss anything _too_ important. The Murdoch's – _**minus one**_ – slept on the train till the morning sun announced the new day through the misty windows.

) (…

 **I've just picked up the chalk on this one. Hope you can come along for the ride.**

 _ **Romantic Nerd**_


	2. 2Are You Good?

Back to the Drawing Board_2_ Are You Good?

William Jr. nearly burst out of his skin with excitement as their carriage pulled up to the St. Joseph's Orphanage. "There are so many children!" he exclaimed, "Can I play with them?" he bounced as he asked.

"I'm sure you will get a chance to sweetie," his mother replied. She shared a content look with her husband, raising her eyebrows to express her excitement, and smiling broadly in response to his happy nod.

They were instantly surrounded by children as they stepped down onto the driveway. Immediately a nun's powerful voice demanded of the crowd, "Give them some space you rascals! Go back to your playing – NOW!" she growled.

Although Julia and William Jr. both found the woman intimidating, frightening even, William knew she would likely be more bark than bite, having known many such characters in his own childhood.

Quickly the head of the orphanage showed up and welcomed them, "Mr. and Mrs. Murdoch… and this must be William Jr., what a lovely boy," she praised.

"Thank you, Reverend Mother Mary Angelica," William acknowledged as he reached for the only bag they had brought with them from the hotel. It was nearly empty, awaiting any items that might come with the collection of their new eleven-month-old daughter, thus it was very light. "He is very excited to meet his little sister," he added.

"No need to be so formal, Reverend Mother will do," she said. _These two were quite good-looking,_ she noticed, _finding herself particularly glad that the little baby they were here to adopt was quite beautiful as well_.

William Jr. tugged at his mother's dress. "Can I play, Mommy?" he asked quietly, almost a whisper.

Julia looked into the kind, blue eyes of the older woman and made the small boy's request formal.

"They are a welcoming lot. It would be fun for him," she stated, "More fun than listening to our adult talk…"

"Of that I am sure," Julia agreed, adding a nervous giggle.

William Jr. gave one final look to his father seeking his permission as well, before he darted off to join the other children.

"We have little Chelsea inside," the Reverend Mother said as she gestured the couple towards the big wide doors at the entrance. She brought them upstairs to her office. A nun was waiting with the baby inside and handed the child to the Reverend Mother with a nod and then took her leave.

Experienced with these matters, the Reverend Mother placed the baby girl in the husband's arms first, thus giving _him_ the pleasure – joy really – of passing the child to his wife, which William did immediately after he greeted Chelsea himself. She was truly adorable, and both parents fell, predictably, immediately in love with her. Fitting the bill to a tee, the little child was barely a year old, blond and blue-eyed, but even more importantly, the infant held a strong, endearing gaze with whomever seemed to be holding her, triggering every nerve in that person's body to want to care for this innocent, helpless, gorgeous little baby.

Reverend Mother Mary Angelica invited them to sit in chairs on the opposite side of her big desk. Julia kept Chelsea in her lap as they spoke. The baby was highly alert, apparently most motivated to get things into her mouth to better become acquainted with each and every object she encountered. Excitedly, William explained that they had brought a few baby toys of William Jr.'s that they had saved from when he was Chelsea's age. He suggested bringing one out to keep the child entertained while they talked. He placed the suitcase he'd brought on the floor between his and Julia's chairs and opened it.

Chelsea had been watching intently and the little one surprised everyone when she declared, with a point, "Ba."

The little baby's beautiful blue eyes bounced from adult face to adult face as they reacted with glee. The Reverend Mother told them that Chelsea had been learning to talk, and that 'ba' meant bottle. She said, noting that the Murdoch's had brought a baby bottle with them.

William fished out a toy rattle and handed it to Chelsea who seemed to gobble it up with enthusiasm. Reverend Mother Mary Angelica had never seen such a rattle. It was metal, as most were, but there was a rubber-like material molded around the ends.

Julia had read the older woman's expression and said, "William is quite the inventor, Reverend Mother. As you can see, he has made this a teething toy as well as a rattle."

"Impressive," the woman responded simply, but she was truly impressed – and pleased, with these two. "Chelsea is able to sit up on her own," she went back to the adoption at hand, "She crawls skillfully…"

"We'll have to watch that," Julia turned to her husband and coached. Feeling she needed to share the experience with him, she passed Chelsea over to William's lap. Immediately the child dropped the rattle and went for his tie, prompting Julia to laugh raucously, especially when William frowned. "You have to understand, Reverend Mother, there is quite a history with William's ties," she explained as she leaned down and picked up the rattle.

The Reverend Mother smiled warmly and returned to her list. "She can stand and has come very close to taking her first steps," she said, pausing to enjoy the scene of poor Mr. Murdoch surrendering his tie to his new daughter. She added, "I am glad that she will be taking those first steps with her parents able to see them."

Once the Reverend Mother was confident the parents were bonded to their new baby daughter, she brought up – _**the situation**_.

"Chelsea has been here for nearly six months, much longer than a child her age usually remains in the orphanage," she started to introduce her request.

It was the excitement of it all that made Julia vulnerable to it – her tendency to blurt out whatever came to mind without thinking first. "Of course, I am glad for it," she said, turning to look into William's brown eyes, "So that we had a chance to adopt her." She turned back to the Reverend Mother with her question, "But why, there seems to be nothing wrong with her?"

Feeling the younger woman's question as a brusque slap, temporarily thrown off balance, the Reverend Mother told herself not to take offense and responded, "Believe me, Mrs. Murdoch," but then corrected her way of addressing Julia, possibly gaining an upper hand over the toffly, blatantly modern, woman in doing so, "I mean _**doctor**_ … Chelsea is a completely happy, completely healthy, little girl. There is nothing _untoward_ about her."

William felt a surge of panicking discomfort in his gut and quickly appeased, "I'm sure Julia meant no such thing. We are very, very happy with her," he said as he reached over to take Julia's hand and looked pleadingly into her eyes. Reassured that Julia, too, was more than pleased with adopting the child, he turned back to the Reverend Mother and asked, "But you said it was uncommon for a child this age to be here so long, so it follows that there would be a reason," he offered an explanation for his wife's concerns.

"Yes, yes, Mr. Murdoch there is," the older woman replied. In her mind, she advised herself that her taking offense was probably due to her anxiety about bringing up the other child. She then stood from her chair behind her desk and walked over to her large office window. Pulling back the curtain to see the children playing outside down below, she seemed to drift off in thought for a moment. Down in the yard she spotted it right away. Truth be told, it felt to her almost a miracle. " _What are the odds of that_ ," she thought to herself upon seeing the couple's son playing with the same little girl she would be bringing up in this conversation.

The Reverend Mother was a sage-like woman, and she knew this unlikely chance-happening would work in the child's favor, would serve as a premonition. "Come and see," she called.

Her voice invited awe, and as William and Julia walked to stand next to her at the window, their baby daughter now in Julia's arms, there was feeling deep in their bones. _This moment was important, they both sensed it._

Parents can't help it, looking for their own child in a crowd. Thus, William and Julia found William Jr. at the exact same time, merely a second after looking down on the crowd of romping children from the second-story window. In the midst of children of all ages and sizes, most of them frolicking and whizzing about, their son was seated next to a little girl, the child likely only a bit younger than himself. They appeared to be making little toys… out of pine cones and twigs.

After a pause, the Reverend Mother spoke, confident the parents looked upon the two children seated together amid the others. "She is Chelsea's older sister," her mystic voice presaged. "We held out trying to find a home for both of them, so they could stay together," she went on. "We were not successful," she told.

William's heart pounded and thumped in his chest. Now it was he who spoke before thinking, hearing his own words out there before he had even thought of saying them, "Can we meet her?"

Julia felt herself swallow, stressed, her throat feeling dry. _Was it fear, fear of the big responsibility of raising yet another child, an older child, one already set in her ways, one who had loved a_ _ **different**_ _mother than her, one that would therefore not be able to love her? She knew, without a doubt (though at that moment she hadn't thought about how she knew it), but still she knew, William would love this child, he would want this child._

The Reverend Mother coached herself not to act overexcited, for this was far from settled yet. She held the corners of her mouth down firmly, fighting the urge to smile at the husband's request. "Of course," she responded and turned to lead the way.

) (

Both of the children caught sight of the adults approaching out of the corners of their eyes, turning to watch them, little baby Chelsea in the woman's arms. The little girl's eyes stalled on the baby, those of the boy did too, at first. But William Jr.'s brain moved quickly. He already knew that the baby was Katie's sister. He already knew he wanted them to adopt Katie too.

Their son jumped up and ran towards them. "Mom… Dad…"

"This is your little sister," Julia said to her son, "Say hello to Chelsea."

 _He would ask. He would. But he did so want to see the baby_. Julia squatted down allowing William Jr. to meet the infant.

William Jr. reached and took hold of Chelsea's tiny hand, with its pudgy little baby fingers. "Hello Chelsea. I'm your older brother, William Henry Lionel Murdoch Jr." he said. He looked into his mother's eyes, noticed how happy she looked. "She's so little," he declared.

"She is," Julia answered, rising to stand. She turned to look at William, then followed his eyes. They were on the other little girl.

William gave her a sideways glance, with his beautiful big brown eyes, he let her know he saw her, let her know he knew she was watching, he let her know he knew she would see, for he had found it impossible to hide his feelings. He took a few steps towards the child.

"This is Katie…" he heard the Reverend Mother say from behind him as he came to stand before her and he felt her blue eyes lift and touch into his.

"Hello Katie," he said. Her big blue eyes were red with tears, but she was fighting hard to hold them back, creating huge, shining wells of water glistening between them.

Her voice quiet, so sweet, she asked him, "Are you good?"

Immediately William felt himself choking up, rendering him unable to speak. He stepped the final step closer and squatted down in front of the child.

As William reached out and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, she lifted her chin. A big teardrop slipped down her cheek. "I'm sposed to take care of her… So I gotta know if you're good," she pushed the words out.

The tenderness with which he did it was heart-wrenching, William brushed the tears from her cheek with his big thumb, so big on her tiny face. He cleared his throat, needing to do so in order to be able to speak…

"Ma mère m'a dit…" the little girl said.

William felt the odd liquid heat of his own tears running down his cheeks, swallowed, tasted the salt of it.

"Viens ici," he dryly said as he opened his arms to her… and she dove into them… and he lifted her up.

"Elle est ma soeur," her muffled voice wept into his shoulder, "ma soeur."

Switching back to English, William said, as he rocked the little girl in his arms, "Such a big job for such a little girl. Such a big, big job…" He found Julia's eyes, felt a surge of relief with his awareness of her tears. Swallowing the salty heat down once more he said, "I know what it's like…"

Julia nodded, her own emotions astounding her.

William's voice filled with emotion, he continued, "To be separated from your little sister who you are supposed to care for…"

Julia, baby Chelsea still in her arms, stepped to him. "Yes," she squeaked out, nodding. She felt her young son at her side, next to her.

William's eyes dug so deeply into hers, with such intense urgency. "Yes, you understand how I feel… or yes, we can take her?" he asked.

"Yes," Julia reached out and stroked Katie's head, "I want her too," she whispered, she promised. Then Julia fell into William's arms, bringing Chelsea and Katie huddled together between them.

Wanting in on all this loving himself, William Jr. squeezed between his parents' legs and tried to wrap his tiny arms around the whole bunch of them. William and Julia pulled apart sufficiently to find each other's faces. Unspoken, they agreed on the importance of including William Jr., instantly both squatting down to the boy's level.

First making sure he got hugged to, William Jr. then asked, "Why is everybody crying… What's so sad?"

Julia answered him, "It's not _only_ sad. But these two little girls lost so much… when they lost their parents and their home." She smiled at her son, warmth abound in that smile, and quickly his mother added, "But we're happy too, because they're going to be ours – both of them – together, with us."

"We're going to adopt Katie too!" William Jr. declared.

"You're happy about that?" William asked his son.

"Yes Daddy!" the boy insisted.

"That's a relief," Julia spoke her thoughts aloud, divulging one of her fears.

He reached for his father's hand, dragged him over to where he and Katie had been sitting, the rest of the family, and the Reverend Mother, and another nun too, following in their wake. "Look at the toys we made, Daddy," he exclaimed.

Everybody admired the work of the two youngsters. And Julia saw it so clearly in that moment, William had been right… to want a big family. The joy her son felt, William felt, little Katie felt – she felt – it astonished her. _Their little boy had been lonely,_ she had discovered. _He wouldn't be anymore_ , she knew.

The Reverend Mother was pleased, no doubt, but she held her emotions in check. Shall we go to the _**girls'**_ beds to collect their things then?" she asked, confident that her use of the plural was correct. She rose an arm and pointed the way. When William started to lean down to put Katie on the ground, the little three-year-old gripped her arms and legs around him tighter, clinging to him with all her might.

Julia chuckled warmly. "She's not letting go of you," she said.

William's face glowing with his joy, he replied, certain the words would reassure Katie, "She doesn't have to," he placed his lips close to the child's tiny ear, "Not until she's certain I'll still be here when she does."

Katie felt his lips kiss her hair. She snuggled in deeper.

Julia smiled, noticing the other nun was crying too. The two women shared a look. William Jr. took her hand and they caught up to William and Katie. The Murdoch's were taking their two daughters home, along with their son.

 _Before they left the orphanage with their three children, William and Julia signed the final papers, gathered what few belongings the two little girls had, and learned the story of the sisters' lives before they ended up here at St. Joseph's Orphanage. Katie and Chelsea's father had been a police officer for the Halifax Police Department, his badge being found among the few items in their mother's jewelry box. They also had a small photo album. The photos in it revealed a family living just outside of poverty. Because their mother had died of tuberculosis, they had no other belongings, no toys, no stuffed animals, none of their own clothing. The Reverend Mother had found a moment when she could tell them, without William Jr. or Katie around to overhear, that Katie had been the one to find her mother dead in her bed, the young child running to get a neighbor for help. That was the moment the little girls had become orphans, for their father had been killed, stabbed on the job, only a few weeks prior, and there were no other relatives to take the girls in. Reverend Mother Mary Angelica shared with Katie's new parents that the child was a bit high strung, but added that she had become the favorite child of all of the nuns here, for she was unique in her sweetness, and her creativity, and her caring for the feelings of others._

 _It did not surprise Julia, knowing all this, when the Reverend Mother also told them that Katie had problems with nightmares, for the tiny child had experienced trauma and hardship uncommon to most. Julia's heart broke for Katie, more so than Chelsea, and yet she had learned it, from her own relationship with Ruby, particularly after their mother died, albeit she had been quite a bit older than Katie was, and from knowing of William's love for his sister, Susana, after his mother had died and his father abandoned them when he was only an eight-year-old boy, she knew Katie's having Chelsea to look after had saved her, given the tiny child purpose, given her life meaning. More than ever, she was so very glad that they had found these two beautiful girls. Julia could not really believe how truly happy she was._

) (

The Murdoch's had a couple of hours before they would catch the four o'clock train back to Toronto, which they used to return to the hotel and rest up, and organize for the long train ride home. Upon first returning to the hotel, the baby was still fussing…

In the cab she had started crying, her older sister advising changing her nappy, or feeding her a bottle. Julia had noted her own annoyance with the little three-year-old's presumptive attitude and had worked to brush it off. She had even managed not to say what had come to her mind… about her having had raised William Jr. from birth and being quite capable of diagnosing and caring for a crying baby.

Fortunately, the nuns at the orphanage had given them an ample supply of homemade formula and they had thought to bring a baby bottle along, so they had a bottle to give Chelsea in the cab. Julia had been impressed that the nuns knew of Thomas Morgan Rotch's percentage method for mixing up the baby formula. As a doctor, she intended to improve the formula, to ward off Ricketts and scurvy, by adding some orange juice and cod liver oil. It certainly would not to improve the taste, however, and she worried Chelsea might reject it at first. She decided in that moment, to wait to change the mixture until they had gotten back to Toronto. There was already plenty for these little ones to adapt to without also changing the taste of the baby's food.

Katie stepped through the hotel room door saying, "So it must be the nappy, then," about her baby sister's persistent crying.

Julia made herself take a deep breath, reminded herself of the extreme importance caring for Chelsea had meant to Katie. "William," she said, her voice suggesting to him a plan was afoot, "I do remember how incredibly well you were at mastering the diapering of William Jr. when he was a newborn. Would you do the honors?" she asked.

He chuckled, for no one ever _wants_ to change a baby's diaper, and yet, he did feel pride in his nearly perfect diapers. He also had an inkling that part of Julia's plan was to make it clear that _**they**_ were the parents in this family, and that they could be relied upon to handle the problems that came with the job. He asked Katie to find a nappy and the pins in the suitcase by the bed, including her, but taking charge.

While William diapered the baby, Katie and William Jr. looked on. Speaking to both of them, he said, "Now of course, you wouldn't remember this William Jr., but your Mommy and I had to take care of your every need when you were first born. A nurse in the hospital taught me how to put on your diapers. I must say, I became quite good at it. Now Katie, I'll bet your parents had to learn all these things raising you. They were probably _**also**_ experts by the time Chelsea came along…"

Julia smiled to herself, for William was gentle, but he was letting them know… letting Katie know, that they were _**also**_ experienced parents, like her mother and father had been. She took advantage of her temporary freedom and gathered up a change of clothing, " _No corset on the train…"_ she thought and she ducked into the adjoining bathroom to change.

William Jr.'s shocked voice rang out, "Dad! She doesn't have a penis!"

 _Oh, she had to see this! "How would the buttoned-up Detective William Murdoch handle this one?"_ she wondered gleefully from the bathroom as she listened through the bathroom door. She heard the hesitation… the momentary silence, pictured her husband clearing his throat before he could manage to speak…

"No," his voice came.

 _He sounded relatively calm_ , Julia thought.

"Um, girls don't have penises," William answered. He cleared his throat more thoroughly and then added, "Only boys and men."

William Jr. found it incredulous. "Katie doesn't have one!?" he asked, "Mommy?"

Julia giggled aloud, covering her mouth, stifling the sound.

"How do they urinate?" her little four-year-old son wondered aloud, his accurate vocabulary sounding so incorrect in his sweet, high-pitched, young little voice.

William's mind battled with which of his son's questions to answer first. He figured William Jr. had already come up with his own answer to the question about Katie and his mother having penises, so he chose to answer the one about using the toilet. "They have to sit down… um, when they use the toilet…"

"Even to urinate!? It doesn't get all over them? How does the urine get out?" William Jr. insisted, his eyes wide with the absurdity of the notion.

Julia's laughter from the other room made it to William's ear, eliciting an annoyed look to flash across his face as he glanced towards the bathroom door. Deciding to show her, he turned back to his son and said, as he put the final, perfect, pin into Chelsea's diaper, "You know how there's a hole at the end of your penis…"

William Jr. nodded.

"And the urine comes out of that hole…"

The boy nodded again.

"Well, in girls that hole is just right up next to their bodies. So, they sit on the toilet and the urine flows out into the toilet. You see?" he asked, receiving a nod.

Julia came out to join them, her changing also now complete. She admired her husband's diapering work and then leaned over and picked up her son. "You see how much you are learning from having sisters already?" she queried, giving him a playful bounce in her arms.

"Yes Mommy," William Jr. answered her and then gave into the joy of being spun and flung about.

"Me too," Katie begged from the floor.

William settled Chelsea into their makeshift playpen between the wall and the bed and their suitcases and then lifted Katie up to swing her around as well.

"Whee," their happy voices sang in the breeze.

William glanced over at his other daughter, now standing and watching, supporting herself against the suitcases. "Let's give Chelsea a turn?" he said to Katie, as he laid her out in a flying position on her belly in front of him and spun her around like a bird.

A moment later Katie soared through the air to land with a plop in the center of the mattress. William carefully lifted Chelsea next. An irresistible smile covered the baby's face with the bumping and flying motions he provided for her.

"Throw me on the bed too, Mommy!" William Jr. wished aloud.

Grateful, not only for the fun of it, but because her muscles were feeling the strain, Julia quickly obliged, hurling her son's body up for some height before it dropped with a vibrant bounce down onto the bed.

After a few more rounds of roughhousing, William and Julia put the children down, and Julia dug out the Crayola wax drawing sticks and paper for William Jr. and Katie. William placed Chelsea back in her safe place with the toy rattle. The parents stepped off to the side.

Julia reached up and stroked William's tie. It was still damp from when Chelsea had put it in her mouth at the orphanage, and then again in the cab, where it had momentarily subdued her crying. "It seems there is yet another person in the world fascinated with your tie, William," she teased.

"Mm," he answered her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"Now detective," she went on, her voice still seductive and playful, "You are quite the sly one, aren't you?"

He raised an eyebrow at her and she giggled.

She would explain. "You always said you wanted _one_ more child than I ultimately agreed to. Now don't you think I haven't noticed, mister, that I agreed to _one_ more child and we now have a total of _three_ – I counted them William – there are _three_ children in our family now," she said, to be rewarded by the wrinkling of his face into his admitting it expression.

Suddenly, a twinkle sparkled his eye and he retorted, "I'm still working on the dog."

"Oh, I see," she responded, giving him a shove in the chest. Finding him to tempting to be resisted, she kissed him. "My God, I love you," her warm breath whispered in his ear, then she nibbled his neck, and then he kissed her again.

Katie was enthralled watching her new parents kissing.

William Jr. noticed the direction of his sister's gaze and said, "They do that a lot… They want you to wait till they are done. Oh, and you gotta knock and get permission before you can go in their bedroom. I'll show you," he added matter-of-factly.

Katie nodded, her eyes still glued on the romantic couple. "O.K," she answered him.

Julia broke off the kiss and tilted her head to William's ear opposite the children. "You hear them?" she asked.

"Mm-hmm," he answered her. Then he kissed her ear, inhaled her scent.

"We have a house… with bedrooms?" Katie asked excitedly a moment later.

"Yeah," William Jr. replied, "A big one."

Finally taking her eyes off of the kissing couple, the idea of living in such a place, with a family of her own, racing her heart, Katie looked at her new brother and asked, "Will I have a bedroom?"

William and Julia stopped their canoodling abruptly as Julia worried aloud, "We don't have a bed for her! Or clothes?" drawing everyone's eyes to her.

William rushed to solve the problem. "We have the big bed in the guest room," he suggested, "Katie could sleep there until we can get her her own bed…"

Thinking Katie would want to be with her baby sister, Julia added, "Then we'll put Katie's bed with the baby crib in the end bedroom." Julia walked over to Katie as she continued. Placing her hands on her hips she said, "That way Katie and Chelsea would be in the same bedroom." Julia squatted down in front of her older daughter and asked, "Would you like that… sharing a bedroom with your sister?"

"Oh yes, uh, uh…" she answered, but then Katie's voice halted suddenly. She stuttered, trying to decide what name to call her new mother.

"Good," William said, joining them as he squatted down too. He and Julia turned to look at each other for a moment, acknowledging that they needed to address what Katie would call them.

Julia said, turning back to the two children, "Katie, um, William Jr. calls us Mommy and Daddy… You…"

William interjected, "What did you call your mother and father, Katie?"

Katie answered immediately, "Maman and Papa."

William put his arm around Julia. Julia said, "If you wanted, you could call us the same way… or by our names – William and Julia…"

There was a pause as the little girl searched their eyes. _She wanted more than anything to make these two grownups love her. Unconscious of her needs, for she didn't know what drove her, she knew she wanted to answer with whatever names they would best like. It's just, she was only three, and she had no idea how to ask such a thing._

It was Julia who grasped the complexity of all of this and explained, "Sweetie… We are your parents now. And we know your mother and father loved you and your sister very, very much. But they can't be your parents now…" Emotions rose and she needed to take a breath. She went on, "It would make us very happy if you called us Mommy and Daddy, but no matter what you decide to call us, we both love you so, so much, Katie. And we're going to love you forever honey. I promise you that. You're our little girl now… and that makes us very, very happy. O.K?" she asked.

"O.K. Mommy," she answered, lighting up the room.

Julia scooped the little girl into a hug and gave her head a quick kiss. She put her back down and they all turned to William as he stood up and spoke.

"We still have some time before we have to go to the train station. I could go out… Buy some clothes for Katie…" he offered. They had brought along some baby clothes for Chelsea, but they had nothing for Katie except the dress that was on her right now, and it was quite worn, really more of a smock. There was nothing for her to wear at home either.

Julia settled Katie on her hip. "William, that would be wonderful," she replied, "I saw a shop, around the corner when we came in from the orphanage. It looked promising," she smiled.

William looked over at the cooler he had made and planned aloud, "We need ice. I'll buy somethings we can eat too."

"Delightful," Julia said handing him his hat. "She leaned close to his ear and whispered, "She'll need some bloomers too," receiving his nod.

While William was out, Julia repacked and the children played, Katie guiding William Jr. in learning how to play with Chelsea. Getting herself into organizing mode, Julia planned. They had brought an abundance of nappies, agreeing to simply discard the soiled ones along the way. She would put everything she thought they might need while on the train in one bag, to be kept close. They would also be bringing the rather large cooler with in their compartment, its chilled baby formula and whatever foodstuffs William returned with stored inside. Julia struggled with what to do with William Jr.'s stuffed rabbit – Blanco – and his toy firetruck. Katie had no toys at all. She anticipated some conflict. " _Under the nappies for now,_ " she went with in the end, tucking the two toys deep inside the bag they would keep nearby while on the train. The crayons and paper would go on the top, right before they left.

Happily, William returned quite the good provider. He had found a new dress, that Katie loved… and some undergarments as well. He brought sliced roast beef (for tomorrow on the train, as today was Friday and they were Catholic), and cheese and bread and peanut butter and some jelly and some apples and carrots… and some cookies too. He had also brought Julia a bottle of wine and a cork screw to open it, earning him a big kiss. But best of all, he had brought some toys!

"The shop you spotted was a coup, Julia," he acclaimed as he placed the last unopened shopping bag on the bed. Impersonating Santa, William reached into the sack and pulled out the first toy, being sure to name its owner so as to avoid disputes. For baby Chelsea, there was a stuffed bear and a pull-toy. Explaining his premature choice of the wooden duck on a long string to his wife he said, "She'll be walking soon, then she can pull the little duck along behind her."

 _Interestingly, unbeknownst to them at the time, the stuffed bear would become a childhood companion to Chelsea, soon becoming named 'Berry Bear.' When William had purchased the toy bear, he had had flashbacks of his own childhood stuffed bear – one that he had spent countless hours talking to, confiding in his secrets. The toy had been terribly important to him for a time. There in the shop, he had reflected again on one of the miracles of parenting, marveling at the profound experience of being brought back, full-circle and deeply, to one's own experiences of being a child._

For Katie, William pulled out a stuffed toy dog – complete with bendable hips allowing the canine to sit and to stand. Katie's reaction surprised them, the little girl appearing to be stunned. She stood there, not moving a muscle.

Julia encouraged, "Daddy bought it for you Katie. It's yours. Do you like it?"

Katie shook her head 'yes,' but still remained motionless. Julia walked over and picked the three-year-old up. She said to William, "This is all probably pretty overwhelming for her," as she walked over to stand next to her husband, toy dog in hand.

"A lot to happen to such a little girl all in one day," William acknowledged. He turned his attention to the toy and said, "Katie, I think this little doggy and you have a lot in common. He just left his doggy-orphanage too… To go to be with his new Mommy – you." William held the dog closer to Katie and smiled when she reached out to take it from him.

Julia carried Katie over to the suitcases she had packed for the train ride home and rummaged down into the bottom of the top one to pull out Blanco – William Jr.'s worn out stuffed rabbit. She sat on the bed, sitting Katie on her lap. She invited William Jr. to come sit next to her. William stepped closer to the huddle as well. Chelsea played happily in her playpen off to the side of the bed.

"I hope," Julia started, "that this little doggy ends up as worn out as Blanco here." She held the beat-up, dingy, stuffed rabbit next to the brand-new toy dog. Both William Jr. and Katie searched her face with wide-eyes, for clearly the new toy was better.

William remembered one of their previous conversations about this "being-loved-to-rags" phenomenon as Julia described it. He placed a hand on his son's shoulder and asked, "William Jr.," the boy raised his eyes to meet his father's, "Am I right to say you love Blanco very, very much?"

"Yes Daddy," he agreed, "more than this much," he explained holding his arms as far apart as they could possibly go.

Julia picked it up from there. "And all that love is why he looks this way?" she asked further.

"Yes Mommy," he answered.

Julia went deeper, "Well, it feels good to be loved, hmm?" receiving bobs of agreement from all. "So, Blanco has been very lucky indeed, don't you think?" she asked.

Both children nodded.

"Good," William concluded, adding, "Do you think you can love this little doggy that much, Katie?"

"Yes, Daddy," she said.

"I'm so glad," Julia chimed in with a hug.

William asked Katie if she wanted to see the other toy he had bought for her. She did, so he pulled the doll and pram out of the bag for her. More comfortable expressing her happiness now, Katie smiled. She had forgotten, in all of this excitement, to say thank you. The nuns had strongly reinforced this gracious habit that her parents had previously taught her, but this was quite a day, and she had forgotten. Julia suggested she give her Daddy a hug to thank him. And she quickly did, then gave one to Julia too.

"There's one toy left in the bag," William announced. He looked at his son, proud of him to the core. Their little boy had not expected a toy, and yet, William was sure he also felt some jealousy as these new siblings of his had been showered with them and he had not. William Jr. noticed his father's eyes upon him. The boy's chocolate brown eyes lit up, hope grew on his face.

"Is it for me?" he asked.

"It is," William responded. A glance in Julia's direction flooded him with content, for her pleasure was obvious on her face. William handed the shopping bag to William Jr.

In a wild hurry, William Jr. placed the bag down on the floor and rubbed his hands together, reminding of a fly. He peered in and then looked back up at his father. "A boat!" he exclaimed, "It's a boat!" He pulled the toy ship out of the bag and displayed it to the room.

The adult father in the room was unable to contain his own boy-like excitement. "It's a steamship!" William declared, his enthusiasm charging his tale. "Much bigger than the passenger ship your mother and I sailed on, the S.S. Keewatin…"

Julia approached her husband and leaned over to interject, "The one on which you almost drowned, I might add, when it was sinking, and I saved your life?"

"You do never cease to amaze me Julia," William paused in his lecture to cherish her. Back to it, he went on, "This is the _RMS Mauretania_ , representing the latest technology in ocean liners. It is really quite an amazing toy. Look…" William reached into the shopping bag and found a small box. He opened the lid and handed it to William Jr., taking a small toy person out to pinch between his thumb and index finger. "It has real people to stand on the deck! Can you find the admiral of the ship in their son?" William asked.

Julia couldn't pass up the chance to tease her husband. "I do say, William, perhaps you should have bought two!"

Her husband tossed the little toy person back in the box and tried to stand up tall, wanting to appear more mature… adult in his stature. The moment he looked her in the eye, however, he acquiesced to the truth, wrinkling his face and saying, "Perhaps."

Julia slipped an arm around his back. " _My God_ ," she admitted to herself, " _I do so love this man_." She gave a kiss, and then said, "I do love you William Murdoch."

"And I you," he replied.

Julia then turned to the children and said, "I believe there is some Murdoch family history with boats, is there not?" setting up the opportunity for William to share with his children about how their grandfather had been a fisherman when William was just a boy growing up here in Nova Scotia.

By the time his story was through, they realized they would have to hurry to make their train.

) (

One of the first things the Murdoch family did, once the train got on its way, was to use the hopper in the back of their Pullman Sleeper car, disposing of Chelsea's latest dirty diaper, and providing proof for William Jr. that little girls do urinate sitting down. Now settled in, Katie and William Jr. played in the upper bunk of their compartment while William and Julia sat together, having pushed the seat closest to the window into the reclining position. The baby gurgled and cooed and eventually drifted off to sleep in a makeshift baby carrier in a basket on the aisle seat.

Julia noticed her husband looking out the window at the Nova Scotia scenery whirling by. She tightened her lips, remembering he had quite a history here. "It's beautiful here," she said, turning her eyes to gaze out the window as well. The Sun was setting, flooding the rolling hills and the sky with rosy, golden hues.

William told her he had lived near here for a time, near Truro. He described his aunt's home – they had bred and sold horses, mostly draft horses. While he was there, and when he returned for summers from his Jesuit school, he had learned how to care for the horses, shoe them, treat their injuries, he had trained some of them to drive, broke a few, trained them to be ridden.

"That's where you learned how to ride horses so well… and rope steer, like you did to capture that fleeing suspect at Buffalo Bill's Western Extravaganza?" she admired and asked.

He chuckled and added, "Don't forget, I won that ten-gallon hat for George too," enjoying her sharing the memory with him.

"He looked so ridiculous in that giant hat," she giggled gleefully in response.

Returning to their discussion, William explained that he had not learned how to do those things on his aunt's farm, such skills had to be learned on a real ranch.

Julia stroked her husband's chest and then took one of his hands in hers. "I have to say, William, I find it quite… sexy, that you have this more rugged side," she flirted. "My husband, not only the smartest man, I swear probably anywhere…"

"Julia…" William began to protest.

She smiled, melting him to the core, and persisted, "But also so strong, and brave… A lumberjack, and a ranch-hand too, even a boxer, according to Father Keegan."

Unavoidable, William blushed, thrilling Julia to no end.

Then she wondered, "Which one did you do first… lumberjack or work on a ranch?"

William gave in to the urge to touch his wife, taking a wisp of her hair in his fingers as he told, "I first worked on a ranch in Montreal. But it was brief, not affording me much of a chance to really learn all the roping and riding skills I would need. I soon went to the lumber camps up north… Lumberjacking is a winter activity, surprisingly… because it's so cold to do that kind of work in the winter, but winter allows easier access to the trees when there are no leaves." He leaned close to her, kissed her cheek, once, then once more, before he went on, his warm voice now in her ear as he moved down towards her neck, "I worked the ranches in the summer months…" A nip evoked a tiny gasp, and she felt his smile press against her skin. He continued his story, "They let all the men working in the logging camps go in the spring, once the leaves have started to grow."

"I see," Julia replied as she reached for William's tie and undid the knot with expertise. "I see no reason for you to be dressed so formally on this long train ride, detective," she said as she sensuously performed the task, and her insides twisted and coiled, becoming delectably tight as he nibbled and kissed her neck. The top buttons of his shirt undone, she rubbed her cheek against his jaw. "Mm," she moaned ever so quietly, "You need a shave," and then she floated in his smell.

"I missed my chance in the hotel before we left," he said. William tucked a bent finger under her chin, stroked his thumb across her jawline. His eyes stormed into hers. "You are so beautiful, Julia," he told her the words as they formed in his head. _My God, that next kiss was stupendous, spinning her world into a dizzying frenzy._

"William," she whispered, as their hearts thundered and their breathing began to rush, not sure if she was asking him to stop or to go. His hands so firmly took a hold of her head, and his tongue, deliciously, velvety soft, such an enticing rhythm, lured in her mouth.

He remembered… where they were. He made himself stop. His brown eyes turned back to the window, to be greeted now only by his reflection. Darkness had rolled in, the dim cabin lights glowing around them.

Julia took a deep breath, having regained a modicum of restraint herself. "Were you tempted…" she giggled with the double entendre of her words before she went on, "to go look for your aunt's farm, I mean, while we were here, so close?" she asked.

"No," he answered. William took a slow, deep breath, felt the sadness underneath. He brought his gorgeous eyes to meet hers. His face lifted into a wrinkle.

"What are you feeling, William?" she asked.

"Mostly sad," he said. _He wondered after himself… Why? He wasn't sure._ His face wrinkled at her again. _She already knew,_ he told himself, _his mother had died, her body face down in a river not far from where their train had roared and whooshed past. He remembered the butterflies around his mother's swollen face and fluttering around in Julia's office at the asylum. Certainly, good things had also happened while he was in Nova Scotia as a boy. He had met Father Keegan… had excelled and thrived with the Jesuits. He would not complain. But, when it all came down to what he felt in his heart, as he returned to this place, it was sad, mostly sad._ He was amazed by the comfort it brought him, when Julia sighed next to him and then rested her head on his shoulder. Her fingers traveled down his arm, his bicep, stroked over the top of his wrist, found and fondled his wedding ring.

Later, the Murdoch's feasted on their picnic dinner, all sharing the lower seats, the one next to the window remaining setup in the reclining position as a bunk. Peanut butter and jelly was the main course, all of its pleasant associations swimming round in William's and Julia's heads, as they ate and played and shared their lives with their children. Katie practiced her new name, Kathryn Anne Murdoch, over and over again. She complained that William Jr.'s name was so much longer. More family lore was laid down, as talk of Julia's father, Lionel – the namesake for one of William Henry Lionel Murdoch's middle names, spurred the conversation into branching off into family history from both the mother's and the father's sides. It felt good, putting down these roots.

Quite a while later, they had tucked the three children in, secured into the top bunk with William's makeshift guardrail, ingeniously made from tying two coiled-up sheets in between the jousts holding the long thin upper bunk to the ceiling. Baby Chelsea slept secured in the basket/baby carrier at the foot end of the bunk while William Jr. and Katie slept, ultimately cuddled together, at the head end of the bunk. Julia and William would sleep directly below their children, both the window and the aisle seats extended into bunks.

Now, behind the curtain of their compartment, the couple lie together. They each were finding it hard _not to_ make love. William decided he would push the intrusive urges away by explaining why he had insisted she place the ice on the top of the cooler after they had eaten dinner. It seemed to have annoyed her when he had suggested she should repack it. He considered the fact that many, the Inspector coming to mind first, have informed him that he could be annoying. William's face wrinkled with the thought, unable to deny it.

"Julia," he tugged at her attention, "I had a good reason to tell you to repack the cooler… um, with the ice on top…"

Julia's fingers slipped into William's dark hair and lusciously scratched across his scalp. _She certainly didn't seem annoyed now,_ he thought.

"William," she whispered, "I know you are quite particular about certain things," she offered. Her lips kissed him in the shadowy light. "It's one of the things I love about you," she whispered her secret, then gave him another kiss.

 _Oh, how his groin jolted to alert! She felt him stiffen against her, fighting against his growing lust. He would not allow his hands to…_

His own voice pierced the intoxication, "If you put the ice on top," he started to reason, his voice scratchy and strained as he resisted. He heard her sigh. He went on, "Then the cold air, which is more dense, will sink down, and that way you keep everything that is in the cooler colder."

Julia, however, was not deterred. Her body wiggled and slid enticingly against his. "You are so smart," she whispered to him. "It's one of the reasons I married you," she said.

Fishing for more, he asked, "Mm…" after a moan escaped, for she had ventured quite low, "One?" a soupy, thick feeling spun in his brain and he had to push to find the words. "What other reasons… to marry me?" he asked breathless.

Mercilessly, her hand slipped into his pants. _Such danger abound. He was fighting with all his might. He should stop her…_

"The reasons for me to marry you, William Henry Murdoch, are countless," her words came, between her rapid, hungry breaths.

 _Oh my God… She took him in hand…_

"Mmm," his devastating moan breeched the air. "Julia, please don't," he tried to reason with his wife in this precariously secluded setting. Her soft fist around him, up and down, each ripple of each finger riding over the ridge surrounding his tip, so sensitive, so electrified, he could feel the smooth, hard surface of her rings as they gently caught. Perfect pressure when she reversed direction, with impeccable timing. Gravity, electromagnetic forces surged the torque of him. _He wanted her, my God he wanted her._

She had to admit, although she really, really didn't want to, that he was right. _They could not… definitely could not… make love on this train_. She let go of him. Pulled out of his trousers, her hand now more safely located, rubbed his arm tenderly. She remembered his question… with effort, about reasons she had married him, and said, "It was mostly that good heart of yours… that Katie asked about the first moment she met you today… and your courage, your integrity." Julia rolled back, increasing the distance between them.

William was so far gone with his primitive urges, thus he struggled frantically to comprehend her words, to fit them into their meaning and their context. _What had we been talking about before she…_

Julia's delightful giggle ruffled in the near-blackness around them. She couldn't fully see it, but she pictured it, his eyebrow arched upwards, as he shifted up on an elbow and tried to find her features in the dim light behind the curtain.

"I'd say, William," her voice helped him hone in on her face, "The biggest reason, for the rush at least, was I so desperately wanted make love with you and I knew you wouldn't if we didn't get married."

" _Of course_ ," he thought, " _reasons she married me."_ His ability to think came back clear as day, the fog of his lust lifting away, left only with the physical tension still tight and swollen, pressing firmly against his trousers down below. " _It all started with the ice on top – I was 'particular' and smar…"_

 _She noticed him brace slightly, clueing he was going to be mischievous. Anticipation built…_

 _Oh, how smug and cocky his tone was_ , as he teased, "So, we are back to smart then."

She gave him his expected knock, then a kiss. "Yes, I guess so, William," she kissed him again.

He rolled over onto his back, pulling her with him. With a little slithering, he brought himself past the crack between the aisle seat and the window seat and Julia bent a leg up over him, pulled the blanket over them, rested her head down on his chest, and the Murdoch's rode the fluttering waves of their breathing and their slow and steady heartbeats off to sleep.

) (

 _Screaming! There was screaming! From directly above them! Katie! It's Katie!_ William and Julia, and everyone else on their train car for that matter, was lurched out of their sleep.

With superhero speed, both parents stood at the screaming child's side, compartment curtain flung back, dim light illuminating the top bunk, the clickity-clack sound of the tracks going by underneath them. William reached over and lifted Katie into his arms, the action almost immediately lowering the blaring decibels of the child's screaming.

"You're alright Katie. I've got you. It's O.K." William's voice gently soothed in her ear. Experienced in handling emergencies, he had a way, as did his wife, of keeping calm under pressure. The added emotion seemed to only strengthen the power of his voice to comfort his trembling, frightened little daughter.

Julia asked William Jr. to help her get Chelsea, who was also crying, into her arms. "Thanks buddy," she said to her son. "Are you alright?" she asked him, not waiting for his answer to explain, "Your sister had a bad dream."

"O.K. Mommy," William Jr. answered her.

"She'll be alright in a minute, sweetie," Julia said to her little boy, then turning her efforts to quieting the baby in her arms. "You're alright little one," her gentle voice promised. In only a few moments Chelsea had stopped crying. She noticed that Katie no longer screamed in the background either, but, the tiny three-year-old was sobbing her sister's name, muffled by her face being burrowed into William's chest. Julia looked down the aisle, catching William's eyes. He was bringing Katie back, telling her that Chelsea was alright, telling her that both she and Chelsea were safe.

Julia reached into the bunk and cupped William Jr.'s cheek. "Take deep breaths," she nodded to him, and felt heartened when he nodded back.

"O.K. Mommy," he responded, then exaggerated a breath, earning his mother's smile.

Julia moved forwards to meet them, coming to stand next to William so that Katie could see the baby nestled safe and sound in her arms. Katie was still crying, but almost inaudibly. William slowly rocked her side to side, his hand softly holding her head. "Shh," he reassured, "Shh."

Julia caught the little girls' blue eyes in the faded light as the child leaned her head down on her Daddy's chest. She reached over and added a caress, sliding her hand back and forth over her older daughter's tiny back.

William took a deep breath, advised his daughter to do the same. "It was just a dream," he coached her.

"Will you always come save me," her sweet, tiny voice asked, sounding dazed and far off, "when I have a bad dream, Daddy?" Katie asked.

William's troubled eyes bolted to jostle Julia's. _He knew he could not promise such a thing_. He and Julia had discussed it ad infinitum, his death… and hers as well… And all the suffering that such a death would bring to the other. _How could he possibly lie to this tiny child about a being able to guarantee that he would never, ever, die?_

Julia leaned very close to his ear, so that he felt her warm breath roll into him with her quiet, quiet whisper, "She's only three. You _must_ make the promise, William… And then pray that you can keep it."

William swallowed and answered Katie. "I will," he said tenderly. "Me or your Mommy will be there when you need us. I promise," he said. He felt it though, the doubt, roll through him, hoped it wasn't a betrayal, told himself to trust in Julia to know what was best, held his breath… until he felt Katie relax with his assurance, and his dread quelled.

"Can I hold her for a minute?" Julia asked, and William passed the child to her, taking Chelsea, making sure to keep Chelsea within Katie's sight.

Katie felt the softness of her Mommy cradle her. It felt so good, filled her with peace and comfort. She knew this feeling, she had missed this feeling. Even her tender voice held her in a bath of warmth. Julia hummed and as rocked her.

Slow, like sleepy ocean waves, a warm summer breeze, Julia took a slow, deep breath. "You know Chelsea's safe, hmm?" she said as she brushed Katie's hair affectionately from her face. A soft kiss on her head, her Mommy asked again, "Hmm?"

Katie nodded.

"You're safe?" she asked.

Katie took a deep breath, so much better, she nodded again.

"You know your Daddy and I love you very much and will keep you safe, hmm?" her Mommy asked her, kissed her head again.

"Yes Mommy," Katie said quietly.

Julia's look… so heartfelt, loving, caring, as her eyes met William's.

"Good," her Daddy's voice flowed over her, and her Mommy's dreamy humming lulled her once again. Katie drifted back to sleep.

) (

 _ **Mmm, how well she slept with the rocking and swaying of the train and its rhythmical tempo softly drumming from below. She felt him next to her, warm and strong, wanted nothing but to be closer. Julia slid her leg over him, such luscious contours, petal soft his naked skin. Her first kiss was gentle, soft, waking him. "Julia," he sleepily scratched out her name. Oh, but that next kiss, it was hungrier, it called to his more savage side, lured him deeper into their secret hiding spot. "We're on the train," he whispered to her. "People will hear," his voice advised.**_

 _ **Whereas moments ago he had been naked, now she found she needed to tuck her hand into his trousers to find him, waiting… OH YES, HE WAS RIGHT THERE, big and firm and so, so strong. Waiting for her. "Shh," she coaxed him. "We have to be quiet," she pulled, and stroked and rubbed, and my God, how much she wanted him inside of her. "Please William," she called.**_

 _ **No turning back now, she knew it, as his arms, so powerful, wrapped around her, rolled her over, and his dense, hard body, first just his shadow as a promise, then his rippled, rigid, contoured muscles mushed her breasts, sank down on top of her, and she was his. He would take her. "Mm," she moaned, helpless to stop it, desperate for him to push into her, to touch her, and move her, and rock her, cause her whole world to spin wildly out of control.**_

" _ **Shh," he reminded, and then kissed her. Oh, how helplessly she opened to him. She wanted more. My God, the wrenching of her anticipation as his hand pressed to open, to widen, her thighs. Exposing her, she was completely vulnerable. He lifted up, he was going to…**_

 _ **Absolute heaven erupted as he breeched her, ruptured her, deeper and deeper and deeper he pushed in. So close. "William," she pleaded. His mouth covered her, quieting her. Harder, deeper, the rhythm rushed. He let go of her mouth, seized her neck roughly with his teeth. OH MY GOD THIS MAN WAS DELICIOUS, as he pounded into her, shoved into her…**_

 _ **The ground was gone. A tilt. It would come, unavoidable now. His reach stretched out, so deep inside of her she felt him in her throat, hot. His moan in her ear. My God she loved him with everything she had. The gushing flooded her, flowed, cascaded, rippled and ruffled, warm, lush, succulent, wave after wave rumbled through her every molecule, filled her… exquisite… absolutely exquisite… the pleasure slowed with a hum.**_

 _ **My God that was wonderful. She loved him so much… so, so much. Her heart thundered in her chest and her breathing raced.**_

Julia awakened next to him, on the train, behind the curtain of their compartment, their children sleeping soundly above them, deeply satisfied and contented from her dream, grateful the dream had been nestled in the secret pleasure of needing to be quiet. William slept, next to her, his handsome face luminous in the golden dawn light.

She treasured moments like this one, moments when she could admire him, and study him. He was truly beautiful. She decided, planned, that she would ravage this delicious man once she had him home alone. She would love him to exhaustion, make him so very glad to be alive.

She propped herself up on an elbow and risked waking him to touch him, running her fingers across the manly stubble of jawline, then traced over his supple lips. A deep breath surged her intense feelings throughout her body, as oxygen reddens and brightens embers, deep inside her core. _**He truly was good**_. Little Katie had gotten right to the crux of it with her first three words, her simple, pure, question. Julia heard the little child's sweet voice in her mind, "Are you good?" she had asked _**this man**_. In all her days Julia had never known anyone who was more so, more good, than this man. She leaned down and kissed his cheek, fluttered kisses to his ear.

He breathed in deeper, swaying into wake. "You are good, William Murdoch… very good indeed," she whispered just before he opened his eyes. "And you have helped me be good too," she noted. _They had always made a good team._

"Good morning," he said, his brown eyes breathtaking in the rosy light.

"It is good, isn't it?" she said showering him with her smile.

) (


	3. Fibonacci Rabbits and the Murdoch's

Back to the Drawing Board_Fibonacci Rabbits and the Murdoch's

) (

"Well detective, since you ask, it would be best when serving the meals for your traditional seat to be vacant," Eloise answered William's question. The, now quite a bit larger, Murdoch family crowded around the kitchen entrance waiting to take their seats for their first dinner together in their home.

Julia's voice added from behind the bunch, baby Chelsea in her arms, "And I think it best to put Chelsea's high chair at the other end." She had decided to leave the seating plan to her husband, albeit for this one little piece of advice. She was, however, fighting the urge to suggest that she should sit closest to the baby, when her husband shared his plan aloud.

"Yes, let's put Chelsea at the end, Julia you should be next to her right here…" the man of the house said, pulling out the chair facing the kitchen window next to "Chelsea's end" of the table. "And I think Katie should sit next to her mother. William Jr. and I will sit on the opposite side of the table," William instructed as he placed his son's 'booster seat' on the chair in front of the window for him. "I'll make a booster seat for you Katie… tomorrow. But for now…" William peered around the room hoping to have an idea. His eyes stopped on a large soup pot hanging on the wall. "Julia," he asked, "Can we use a couch pillow, just for now?" He walked over and lifted the pot from the wall, and flipped it over to show her his idea.

"Good idea, William," she praised, "William Jr., could you and Katie go get the dark brown pillow on the sofa?"

"O.K. Mommy," William Jr. quickly answered.

Imitating him, fervently motivated to fit in, Katie rushed to oblige as well, "O.K. Mommy," she declared and looked to her older brother.

"Come on," he said and the two of them dashed off to run the errand.

Eloise had made one of the detective's favorites, Beef Stew. She worked in the background as the family ate and talked.

Julia noticed that Katie bounced constantly in her seat, legs swinging back and forth. " _A bit anxious, probably,"_ she thought to herself. " _Not a big eater either_ ," she noted. Julia put her fork down and leaned over to Katie, slipping her fingers around the little girl's head and into her hair and giving her a soft kiss on the head. "I'm so glad you're our little girl," she told her. "Do you like the Beef Stew, it's your Daddy's favorite," she said.

"Oh yes, Mommy," the little girl answered, rushing to take another bite.

Chelsea drew everyone's attention by slapping her hands on her high chair top and letting out an excited screech. Her hands were covered in remnants of the tiny pieces of food she'd been half eating and half playing with.

Katie interpreted, "I think she wants a spoon."

Eloise's voice could be heard from behind them, encouraging in baby-talk, "Of course she does. She's a big girl too, aren't you Chelsea." The woman hurriedly delivered the dining implement.

William Jr. asked, "What did you usually do after dinner, at the orphanage?"

Keeping her eyes down on her meal, Katie answered, "We played for a little, but then we had to get cleaned up… Whatever Sister Raquel told us. Then we would get in bed and listen to a story."

Excited, William Jr. said, "We do that too! But I'm not in bed yet. We read it in the Living Room."

"What types of stories do you like, Katie?" William asked.

"Do you have a favorite?" Julia asked too.

"Cinderella!" Katie replied.

Julia caught her daughter's eye, "We have that one," she offered.

William Jr. frowned. He released a sigh and rested his chin into his hand and began tossing his food around on his plate.

William chuckled. "Mrs. Murdoch," he said from the other side of the table, "I believe we may have our first conflict." His eyes guided Julia towards William Jr.

Julia laughed out loud at her son's expression. "Cinderella is not your favorite?" she asked somewhat sarcastically.

"No!" he declared, "It's just a pretty girl getting into pretty dresses and falling in love with a handsome prince," he elaborated.

Julia had to admit, she saw his point.

"Peter Pan is better," William Jr. went on. "At least it has pirates… and flying…"

So many things went through Julia's mind. _This boy was definitely William Murdoch's son_! The first thought blurted out of her mouth, while others tracked off in all directions in her brain.

"Fitting with his ship-faring ancestors," Julia teased, eyeing William she added, "Fisherman grandfather and all."

"True," her husband acknowledged.

Her connections were far from finished, however. She went on to say, "Not to mention your Daddy's penchant for flying." _Immediately the image, from years ago, after she and William had returned home from watching the play_ Peter Pan _– ironically… the image of seeing William flying through the air as he tripped while playfully chasing her down the hall, because his pants had fallen down around his knees, this hysterical image flew through her mind_ , and made her giggle. _She would share it, would wholeheartedly enjoy seeing William turn bright red, but first, a few more respectable examples of William's flying were in order._

"Your Daddy had a friend… still does actually," she said, glancing at William, "named James Pendrick. He probably invented the first real airplane… But it was your Daddy who first flew it," Julia said, raising her eyebrows high with excitement.

"Wow!" William Jr. exclaimed. "Really Daddy?" he asked.

Bashfully, William couldn't deny it, "You could say…"

Julia interrupted. "There's more," she promised. "This same friend invented a rocket to fly to the Moon!" her eyes grew big again.

William Jr. and Katie gasped with anticipation.

"Did Daddy fly it too!" the small boy nearly shrieked.

Julia glanced William's way and then continued, now looking at Katie, happy the little three-year old was following along, "No. But he did wear a special winged suit and jump out of a hot-air balloon and fly back down to Earth."

"Wow," both children said.

Preparing to serve the dessert behind them, Eloise instinctively wrinkled her face in doubt. Then, however, she questioned her rush to judgement. " _The doctor was speaking of the detective, after all,"_ she reasoned, ultimately talking herself into believing the tall tales.

Julia peeked over at her husband. " _Oh, he's loving this – on top of the world_ ," she thought, " _Perhaps_ _it's best to keep William's little "Peter Pan" adventure between ourselves for now_ , _especially in light of the fact that Eloise would overhear, and would surely figure out why his trousers were down in the first place."_ Still, he read something mischievous in her smile, she was sure.

Julia giggled when William raised an eyebrow at her. "Later," she whispered to him.

 _Interesting, he felt that right in his groin…_

Her mother changed the subject, asking, "Katie, why do you like Cinderella so much?"

Eloise was clearing the dinner plates away, replacing them with dessert.

"Because she marries a handsome prince," the tiny child answered.

William observed his wife's frown. He cleared his throat and said, leaning across the table to get closer to Katie, "She did a lot more than that." His voice almost in a whisper, highlighting his words as he explained, "She had survived the loss of her mother…"

Julia leaned closer too, marveling at this wondrous man once again. He seemed to be onto something.

William went on, "Being strong and brave in such circumstances is no easy feat. And even when people treated her cruelly, she remained kind. Then, she turned to ask for help, she didn't give up hope, despite the fact that she was confined to life as a servant in a kitchen. And she let the birds and the animals help her get the things she needed to go to the ball." He leaned back, making room for Eloise to put down the desserts. "My this looks delicious Eloise," he declared, earning similar accolades for the older woman's cooking all around.

Julia decided to join in, grateful for the new perspective on this fairytale. "Cinderella had to be very bold to go to that ball at all, pretty much as an imposter," she evaluated, wrinkling her face in judgment, "I mean the ball wasn't for people like her. It was for wealthy aristocrats. That's why she had to sneak in and sneak out…"

"You mean Cinderella was like a spy!?" William Jr. showed some interest now.

"Sort of," Julia answered.

William inserted, "She didn't know she was going to fall in love with the prince."

Julia glanced at her husband with a smile and added, "And the prince didn't know he was going to fall in love with her."

Everyone felt it, the shift. Probably because of the look William and Julia shared. It was as if all the oxygen flew out of the room, made it fuzzy.

Entranced, Katie asked, "Daddy, did you fall in love with Mommy the moment you met her – like the prince?"

William's eyes seemed stuck to his wife's beautiful, big, blue ones. "I did," he admitted with a nod to her. After a pause, William turned to Katie, glanced over at William Jr., and then said, "But, we're not quite like Cinderella and Prince Charming… uh… It's sort of the other way around for us, um, Mommy is more like the prince in our story, and I'm more like the pauper…"

"Huh?" William Jr. wondered.

William sighed, it would be harder to explain than he expected. He heard Julia's voice in his head, " _He's only four… She's only three."_ Besides, their class differences had never been a comfortable issue for him. "Your Mommy is from an upper-class family. They had more money than most, and me, I was from a much lower class, didn't really even have a family…"

"He is quite dashing though," Julia flirted from across the table, trying to ease some of the tension in the air. An idea hit her and she turned quickly to face Katie. "You know, it does seem like you already met a Prince Charming Katie, I mean Daddy here," Julia glanced over at William, "He swept you off your feet, brought you from the orphanage to this beautiful house…"

William interrupted, "We all did, and we all fell head-over-heels in love with you too, from the moment we met you."

Katie looked around to see William Jr. and her Mommy nodding their heads in agreement. She bounced happily and said, "And fed me this delchus cake," popping a piece in her mouth.

"You'll have to thanks Eloise for that," Julia advised.

"Thank you, Eloise," Katie said.

"Your welcome Katie," the woman glowed back at the girl with a smile, "I'm glad you like it."

"I love it!" Katie declared.

"Me too," insisted William Jr.

Soon after, the family headed to the living room for their story reading – Peter Pan tonight, Cinderella tomorrow. Bolting out ahead of their parents, Katie and William Jr. rushed down the hall, baby Chelsea bobbled away happily behind them in her _Daddy-made_ baby walker. William took Julia's arm and leaned close, "Now, wouldn't it be nice to have a little puppy bounding after them?" he suggested, extending his hand out before them, inviting the image.

"Oh yes, the dog," she feigned annoyance. "Perhaps that will be next, let's give it some time… to adjust to all this first," she reasoned.

They walked by the gate William had built and installed at the top of the staircase to the basement, Chelsea's safety in the baby walker in mind. "Well done, William," Julia said.

He smiled and replied, "At least we were prepared for her. We're playing catch-up with Katie."

"Yes," Julia responded, "happily."

) (

As soon as they pulled the girls' door ajar, having finally agreed to letting Katie sleep in the crib with Chelsea for tonight, Julia remembered her plan from seemingly days ago, although it was from just this morning, waking next to him from her sexy dream of secretly, silently, making love with him, in their curtain-covered compartment on the train. She was going to ravage her husband wildly. Now was the time. So quickly she felt the luscious twisting begin in her insides.

Her husband took her arm as they continued down the hall past William Jr.'s room on the right, then past their bedroom door on the left. He moved as if expecting that they would be going down the stairs…

Her tug drew him backwards, capsizing the gravity in him. She led him into their darkened room. Click… the door closed, her supple body pressing into his, her whisper, lips so soft, a kiss, "I intend to have my way with you husband," her seduction hauled at his core.

Stung, breathless, and stunned, the electromagnetic jolts charged directly to his groin. He tried, to think, to speak. His heart thundered in his chest. _His tie… He didn't even remember he had one on…_

His brain surrendered, gave way, swirled and melted into a soupy mush. He flipped their positions, treasured the sound of thumping her back into the wall. He covered her, squashing and crushing, and swaying, and rhythmically, his kiss penetrated deeply into her warm, slippery mouth.

"Mm," her muffled moan surged him. She had wanted to be more in control. Fighting the whirlwind, Julia pushed at his chest. Pushed him back. Stretched forward to linger on his lips, so delicious, before pushing away harder, stopping the kiss.

"A shower?" she suggested, unable to hide the effect he was having on her, it could be detected in her voice.

"That would be delightful," he heard himself answer her through his lusty fog, feeling as he might when inebriated and faking self-control.

Quite hot, the shower rumbled over them in the flickering glow of the soft candlelight. Soapy, and sudsy and slippery, they moved along, and over, and into, one another. Julia, focusing with all her might, for her head had that scrumptious, densely dizzy sensation in it, soaped up her hands. She pushed him back into the cold tiles of the shower wall, the water tumbling and storming behind them. "Do you remember… on the train?" she said, putting the soap down, hesitating above him, so close their auras tingled with the temptation.

Immediately William spiraled down the rabbit-hole of memory, dark, the drumming of the train wheels below them on the track, her hand… her fingers, into his trousers, taking him, _Oh, my God_ , he remembered…

"I love to hear you breathing like that, William Murdoch," she confided, "Like a raging bull about to charge…"

"Mmm," his moan soared them both, her touch intolerably lush as she took him, wrapping him in her fingers, firm and taught, surrounding him. She knew exactly how to move to devastate him, to build him and to crush him, carried in the ebb and flow of each moment. Her teeth took a demanding hold of his chest, quicker, quicker, she sucked on his flesh and hurled him towards the edge of his tolerance. He bucked, involuntarily, making her smile, forcing her to release his burning skin to touch the colder air. A few more strokes… up to the last possible second, to the last tolerable inch. Then she let go, grabbed his shoulders and pulled him into the rushing water, she rinsed him off.

Julia stepped around him, turning him with her orbit. Kissed him, their heads just above the gushing, the pressure of the cascading water, flowing over their wriggling bodies below the kiss. She let go of his mouth, turned away, reached up and pulled her hair aside to show him her smooth, creamy flesh. _How could he possibly fall harder?_ The sight of her backside more than he could withstand – curves, _Oh my God_ the swerving arch in her back _and those two plump, round_ …

He seized a hold of his wife with both hands from behind her, taking control of her hips, he lifted her, pulled her to him.

She felt it simultaneously, his hard, firm presence against her wet softness, and the rigid, cold, wall flattening her marshmallowy breasts. He pushed, leaned, pinned and pressed, stealing her ability to breathe, heavy against her.

"Oh," her voice echoed in the humid air as he ruptured her, pushing forcefully into her from behind. Unbearable. She could not take it, so delicious. "William," her voice whimpered, "Please."

Deeper in, further up into her, he pushed, he squeezed, so deep she felt him dock, completely filling her, caressing, teasing, bearing down on that one spot, demolishing her every resistance. Then it started, first the backdraft of it, sucking her into up its wind-tunnel, gasping her every ounce of oxygen, panicking her as she felt the roll of the drop begin, then, the huge pressure of his pounding forward into her again, tumbling and flipping her. The cadence of it building, fiercely building, faster, harder, deeper, ever so much deeper, each powerful thrust, magnificent, so magnificent, pumping for more and more and more.

They each sensed it, barely held at bay, it would burst. She felt William surge towards it. Push and shove and pound with all his might. He heard her gasp… just the right way, like the fluffy edges of a feather quivering before the wind takes it in its waves. Phenomenal, the explosion of the succulent heat around them, through them, ruffling sweetly through each cell, they lunged for the top of each ripple of ecstasy, praying the sweetness of it would never, ever, end… But the upswings stretched out and lowered, _please just one more delicious wave. Mmm, so delicious._

Then… so weak, muscles so loose and open, hearts pounding. Quiet and stillness around them but not yet captured by it, they drifted together, gently, rushing breaths taking in the steamy vapors, winded from the effort.

He had to kiss her, over and over, and over, again. He loved her so much. "Julia," his voice spilled into her ear. "Julia, I love you. My God, I love you," he swore as the world still hurled by them. She couldn't answer, relished in the flutter of his kisses. Pleaded in her mind for him to stay with her, cherished the feeling of him inside of her.

He stepped back, slid out of her, turned her around and took her in his arms, flooded her with more kisses, on her ear, her cheek, her neck. They rocked together in the candlelight until reality settled back in.

Naked and dry, Julia tucked under the silky sheets, waiting for William to lock up the house and check on the children before bed. Candidly, she watched him disrobe, his sculptured body revealed in the warm glow of his lamp. " _This man is gorgeous,"_ she thought to herself. Unconsciously, she took a deep breath, as if she could suck more of him into herself that way.

He slipped in next to her, and she moaned with the heavenly feel of his skin sliding along hers. William lay on his back. Julia, moved over him, covering him, splendid the feel of his groin under her thigh as she ran her long leg over him, stopping with his masculine bulge just under the right spot, below her. She felt him distinctly, rousing her hairs. She stroked the mark she had made on him with her love-bites. _She wanted more_. Her insides tweaked and twisted, as her hands began to mold his flesh, marveling in its firmness, and its yielding to her pressures as she rode its contours, and _my God_ , she felt him growing underneath her, and it raced her breathing and savaged her heart.

"Make love to me again, William," she whispered to him. _Heaven_ , she felt the push as his groin responded. She crawled up on top of him, tall at first, took his hand with hers and led him to her waist, guided him up her willowy body, to her breasts. Her eyes, such a deep, deep, blue as he gave in to his urges, took hold of her breasts in his hands, he surged up into her bottom from below as her malleable flesh rippled and jiggled between his fingers, poking out, then bending away again, with his will.

Dropping down onto his chest, Julia again sequestered his flesh into her mouth, this time sucking on his neck. Spinning and sinking and flying into sensuous abandon, he chased a thought, as he pictured the brand she was making on him, succumbing to the need to moan with the pleasure of it, as he realized it would be hidden from sight by his shirt collar. Enticingly, she wriggled and writhed on top of his tight body, her flesh so much softer than his, pillowing and undulating into him.

His own hands had not been still, they explored every inch of this luscious woman, every swing up, and every dip down. He heard her breathing barrel into his ear, storming out of her in deluge after deluge. So tight she sucked on him. His fingers rode over the curve of her buttocks, dipping so delightfully into that taught bottom curve, reaching inwards… hairs, coarse hairs. So close.

Julia's moan was torturously hungry, as he discovered her creamy eagerness. She released his neck. "Please William…"

 _Wham_ , he flipped her over. _There was no stopping this now_. His hot breaths flared over her flesh. His hand rushed to push her thighs apart. Now, he would take her – now. _Hard_.

"William, please… Oh… Yes," as he breached her, she so wanted him. It was rare, that William Murdoch lost control, but it was gone now. He powered into her with everything he had, the maximization of his efforts revealed in his savage grunts. _Tormented_ , her head spun and her womb coiled and wound desperately for him, sucking him in with all her might. "Please William… harder," she lured. The pressure, the tension, stronger and stronger. It would surely burst. It would. It would.

The flash, lighting strike so bright there were no shadows, sparking, setting the inevitable in motion. There would be a bone-shaking thunder. For only a second, it promised before it hit, this eruption would be big – so high the abys dropped off, so high as they whooshed and whirled forward, taken by the enormous inertia of it. _**Heavenly… celestial, boundless, sublime**_ , their moans of pleasure mingled together. Enraptured, they climbed again, breath-taken with the soaring, nearing the certain plummet. Again, thank God, the gushing blaze roared outward, warping and filling each atom in its way. And again. And again. _This ride was exquisite beyond measure,_ as they were pulled along in its wake, savoring each slowing torrential overflow, to the last confectionary drop.

Done. William completely melted into oblivion on top of her, unable to move. He was done. Too exhausted to kiss her, to appreciate her, and yet, he did. But with such effort that he buckled and drooped again, with a giggle at himself. He was spent, completely. Much sooner than he would normally do so, he rolled off of her, and moaned as he lay out flat, aware of the cool air as it kissed his sweaty flesh. William gave in to the urge to giggle again. He felt her move, more than saw her do so, for his eyes were closed, yet he sensed her rise up and prop herself on an elbow.

His voice convincingly displaying his exhaustion, he scratched out the words, his chest still heaving with the effort, "I feel like Blanco the rabbit."

Prompting Julia to shower him with a belly laugh. Flooding him with joy, expressed in his simple smile.

Her fingers traced the various marks she had made on his body, a red swelling on his chest, another smaller purplish-brown one on his neck, while picturing her fingernail marks on his shapely buttocks currently hidden out of sight. She had ravaged him, alright. "I loved you to rags, William Henry Murdoch," she said between her laughing.

"And it was wonderful," he gave, "Absolutely wonderful."

She reached over him and turned out his lamp, then nestled onto his chest. He tilted his down to kiss her hair, to breathe in her familiar, satisfying scent.

"Lucky rabbit," she said, smiling gleefully as she felt him smile against her in response. _Lucky rabbit, indeed._

) (

Katie woke up the household, except for Claire-Marie far off asleep in another section of the house, again screaming from having had a bad dream. Her new parents were jolted awake instantly, but scrambled around desperately to find any semblance of clothing as they had fallen asleep after making love. William found his robe quickly after turning on his lamp, Julia however was struggling to orient herself, having not slept at home for a few nights now.

Dashing towards her dresser to get a nightgown, Julia started to say, as her husband reached their bedroom door, "At least Chelsea…"

At which point baby Chelsea's cries began to sprinkle the air amidst those of her older sister. "Go," she urged William.

His heart broke as Katie's cries switched from terrified to begging for them. "Daddy! Mommy!" she wailed out into the unfamiliar house.

"We're coming, Katie," he called, rounding the corner in the hallway, the girls' bedroom door in sight.

Julia passed by William Jr.'s bedroom door, right behind William, to hear their son ask if he could come too. She paused ever so slightly to encourage him to join, then hurried on her way. Arriving in the girls' bedroom, Julia switched on their light to see that William had Katie in his arms, and, gratefully, the child was quickly responding to his comforting presence. She reached into the crib and lifted Chelsea into her arms.

"It's alright, little one. I've got you," she said to the baby. Chelsea's eyes found hers. Julia coached herself, _calm down now, breathe_. She took a deep breath and the baby stopped crying, as simple as that. Katie however, was another story. Although she was no longer screaming, she remained very upset, each rapid exhale exaggerated by a sob.

William worked to soothe her. "Hey there, you're fine. It's O.K. sweetie…" He kissed her head, noticing how warm she had made herself with all this turmoil. "Shh… You're safe…"

Julia walked up next to him to show Katie that Chelsea was fine.

"See," William said, lowering his voice even more in an effort to quiet her, "Chelsea's safe. You're safe…"

"Not Maman!" the little girl's angst elevated with the words. "Maman!" she wept, "Maman, no… Maman n'est pas sûre," she seemed to plead with the world.

Julia caught William's eye, "She must have had a nightmare about her mother," she said.

William turned back to look into Katie's red, wrinkled, tear-soaked face. _Such unbearable pain, with all his heart he longed to fix it._ He reached up and wiped a big teardrop with his thumb. Those huge blue eyes held to his, and he felt the warmth of it, relief seeped in, the moment he remembered his faith.

Speaking back to the little child in French, he offered, "Ta maman est en sécurité, Katie. Elle est au ciel ... avec Dieu."

 _Instantly, Julia saw it_ , Katie's release of her terror. And as the child's troubled eyes settled deeper into William's, softening, Katie stopped crying. " _Dieu… God_ ," Julia thought it out.

Katie's tone more settled, peaceful, she checked with William, "Maman?"

William leaned closer to Katie and said, in English now that she was calmer, "She is in heaven, looking down on us right now. And I'm sure she is worried about you, Katie… and Chelsea. But I'm sure she is also so pleased, so proud of you, being such a brave girl, so good, taking care of your little sister…"

Such a sincere sadness took the child, took them all with her as well, as she _**accepted**_ it. "Maman," her tears returned, but without the stress… and the anxiety… and the panic… of before. The little child dropped down into William's chest and he rocked her.

He turned to watch Julia as he said, "I can bring you with me to Mass tomorrow morning, hmm? We can pray to your Maman?"

Mixed emotions filled Julia with his plan, but predominantly she was glad for it. "That would be lovely, William," she reassured him that she was with him.

Katie nodded, her head still tucked securely to her Daddy's chest, and her beautiful eyes held her Mommy's.

"So much better," Julia said, reaching over and stroking Katie's hair. Her heart swelled with love as it seemed to break for this sweet, sweet little girl. Julia leaned close and kissed Katie's head.

Katie reached for her, yearning for the comfort of being close to her Mommy, remembering the tenderness from last night on the train. William helped her get into Julia's arms and took Chelsea. Julia walked Katie into the next room, reaching over to switch on the soft light before sitting down on the guest bed with Katie in her lap, the child's head nestled into her Mommy's bosom. William Jr. followed in, then William with Chelsea. Julia invited William Jr. to sit next to her on the bed.

The four-year old crawled up. "Are you O.K. Katie?" he asked carefully.

He was rewarded with a nod.

Julia's voice, steady and sure, said, "You had a bad dream, I know. I have bad dreams too…" her lips kissed the soft blond hair of the little girl. "I used to have them a lot…"

 _Immediately William's mind flashed… seeing himself opening the coffin when Julia had been buried alive by Gillies…. then later running into her at the asylum. Her voice ever present in his mind, his memory stealing his breath away once more with the joy and excitement of having seen her unexpectedly, "_ The nightmares started soon after I was buried alive. They became so bad, I was afraid to sleep at night…" she had explained. _And William stalled there, marveling at this woman – his wife, in that moment. There could be no better woman in the world, he was certain. And right now, being a trained doctor, and a psychiatrist too, and being the remarkable woman she was, William knew there couldn't ever be a better mother for this troubled little, amazing, girl than Julia Ogden. How could it be that his heart was breaking so, and yet he felt such wonder and amazement with the world… such a powerful love and gratitude that they had all found each other… swallowed him up. He took a deep breath and refocused on what Julia was telling their little daughter._

"…But I know a secret about bad dreams Katie. You want to know what it is?" she asked.

Unable to help herself, Katie was intrigued. The little girl's head bobbed 'yes' as she nestled safely into her new mother's comfy chest.

Julia was thinking rapidly, _two ways to go… Sharing what happened in the dream was important, but learning to master the dream was too. Both paths involved speaking…_

"Say it out loud, sweetie. It takes the power away from bad dreams. It makes it better when you tell someone about it… So, you tell us about the bad dreams, all the awful things in them. That's the secret Katie," Julia encouraged, "That's your secret power over nightmares – your voice. Cause then sweet girl, then you are no longer alone, and those nightmares know they can't hurt you when you're not alone. That's how you take away their power, hmm?" she leaned down and asked for her response.

"O.K. Mommy," her tiny voice replied.

Julia leaned back, requesting Katie to look her in the face as she asked, "Your Maman was in the dream…"

Katie nodded.

"Yes," Julia said, nodding. "Can you say it?" she pushed.

The child needed to breathe to speak, then answered, "Yes."

Such a wonderful smile grew on Julia's face. "You are very brave," she said. She solidified her eye-contact with Katie, connected, strong, she went on, "And something bad was happening to your Maman…"

Katie nodded.

Julia waited…

"Yes," Katie said, again rewarded for her courage with a reassuring smile.

William brought Chelsea and sat on the other side of Julia on the bed. The more support, the better.

"What was happening to your Maman in the dream?" Julia asked.

Katie glanced over to her Daddy, receiving a nod. "The tubes were getting her," she said. Katie's heart began to race, the fear threatening and looming again.

So calm, Julia's voice grounded her, "What did the tubes look like?"

The question too general for a three-year old terribly frightened by a dream, she asked more specifically, "Were they thin and long, like a finger, or thicker like an arm?"

"Long and skinny tubes," Katie answered, her voice rising, stressed.

Julia modeled another deep breath. "Take a breath, little one, nice and slow," she asked, joining Katie as she obliged, _and, so sweet, Julia noticed that William Jr. and William did too._ Sensing she had ventured far enough for one night, Julia knew the next step would be helping Katie handle the "tube dream" in the future. _Still, part of her mind worked to solve the puzzle – Katie and Chelsea's mother had been ill… Perhaps Katie had seen her mother in the hospital at some point, with medical tubes… an I.V…_

Julia nodded, requesting Katie's full attention. "Remember I said your power against the bad dreams is your voice," she started, then waited for a verbal answer.

Nodding first, and then remembering, Katie replied, "Yes Mommy."

"Good," Julia answered. "So…" another reassuring nod, "if you see any tubes in another dream, you need to make a noise – a loud one. You need to yell at the tubes to stop, but not scared, _angry_ , angry at them for hurting your Maman. And you need to call for help, as loud as you can, with all of your might, you call for us… and we'll come help too…"

 _Julia knew that if Katie could make a loud enough noise in her dream, it would wake her up, pull her out of the dream. In this way, Katie could begin to have some control over the nightmares._

It was William, now, who insisted Katie respond verbally, urging, "So you yell at the tubes, and you call for us, right?"

"Right," the little girl asserted with a nod. The confidence in her was impressive.

The children back in bed, parental presence until Katie was actually asleep, William and Julia returned to bed. Turning out the lamp, wrapping his arm around his wife as she tucked into her favorite spot on his chest, William repeated for the umpteenth time, "You never cease to amaze, Julia." The phrase vibrated with an extra dimension of connection between them, originating many years ago, back to the last time Julia would work in the morgue before marrying Darcy, leaving William for good to avoid the suffering of living life partially with him was causing. She had helped him see then, that two shooters were possible in the shooting Alderman Hidell, with the help of stereoscopic goggles.

Keeping with tradition, she added, giving him a squeeze, "We've always made a good team."

As usual, she was right. And with that, all of the Murdoch's slept peacefully through the rest of the night.

) (

Katie's tiny hand tucked inside her father's, early Mass completed, they headed for the door at the end of the big church to thank Father Clements for his inspiring sermon. Katie had drawn much attention, and immediately Father Clements spotted the little girl standing next to his friend and parishioner.

"William, who is this beautiful little girl?" he asked, his smile warm and wide.

"Father Clements," William nodded in greeting, "Meet my daughter, Katie Murdoch."

Father Clements squatted down to better connect with the child. "Well, hello there Katie. I'm pleased to meet you."

Overwhelmed, Katie hugged William's leg.

"She's a bit shy," William explained.

"Well," Father Clements said, "She is quite brave too… We had a rather large crowd for her to contend with this morning." Even the busy priest had noticed all the interest William and his new daughter had been getting. Having previously known about William's plans to adopt a baby this weekend, he, too, had been surprised to see this _older_ child with him.

William explained a bit more, "Katie here…" he decided to pick her up in his arms, "is the big sister of the baby we adopted, Chelsea. She wanted to pray to her mother and father."

"I see," the priest responded, now seeing the stunning, big blue eyes of the child as he looked into her face, secure in her Daddy's arms. "We will all pray for them, Katie," he promised. Then the young, handsome priest turned to William and said, "Susana is surely smiling down on you for this, William," fully aware of the connections between this little girl's story and that of the man holding her.

Thank you for that, Father," William replied.

"Will you be making confession?" he asked.

William looked down at Katie in his arms. He very much wanted to, but how could he…

Seeing the problem, Father Clements called a sister over to watch the child for him.

Making the sign of the cross, William said, "Bless me, Father, for have sinned, it has been seven days since my last confession and these are my sins, I have broken the eighth commandment, by lying to my daughter..." telling Father Clements about his promise to Katie that either he or Julia would always be there when she needed them.

His heart feeling the tug of compassion for this good man before him, Father Clements suggested, "God looks at these things with children a little differently, William. Think of Santa Clause. And in this case, the child lost her father, and her mother, and her home. She will surely have trouble trusting enough to attach to you, or anyone else for that matter, in the wake of such loss."

William frowned, unwilling to let himself off the hook so easily. "But I never lied to William Jr…"

"No," Father Clements interrupted, his eyes strong through the confession screen, "Your son _**assumes**_ you will never die, so he does not ask." Relieved, for he saw understanding on William's face, the priest went on, "A child must be able to bond to function, to be happy, healthy, to have meaningful relationships that foster growth and help them to thrive…"

 _William, found he thought of his own boyhood connection with Father Keegan_ …

Father Clements continued, "In order to do so, the child must be able to trust that the person will be there… will not die…"

Images of all the heartfelt talks he and Julia had had, about worry over losing the other, flooded through William's mind. "But Father," he argued, "Julia and I live with a stronger love, knowing we could lose each other, we have been so close to doing so, so many times. We cherish every moment, more so than we would without this fear…"

Father Clements nodded and replied, "Yes, but could it not be that the best lives, best loves, friendships, maintain a balance, so the other is not taken for granted, and yet they rely on each other." He saw that William considered his point. Back to the matter at hand, he concluded, "True, it was a lie that you told your young daughter, but for her own good, and you must pray for her forgiveness, someday, for your having told it to her."

William stepped out of the church, taking a deep breath of the fresh air on an early spring day. His burden felt lighter. Katie spotted a woman selling homemade candy, and they stopped and bought some. _He was acutely aware of it, he felt happy_. A small box of Patterson's hard candies on the woman's table caught Katie's fancy. Paying for them, as well as a large box of homemade chocolates for Julia, William wondered why the woman did not make the hard candies herself, as she did the others, learning that making hard candy required very high heat and she preferred to avoid potential accidents.

He considered the chemistry of it as they headed home, " _Strong bonds require high heat to be broken, no surprise, I guess_." A smile slipped on his face. _He would do everything in his power to make such strong bonds with his children_.

"Perhaps we'll take a family walk in the park later?" he asked Katie, as she sucked away contently on a piece of the candy.

"O.K. Daddy," she bounced excitedly with her reply.

) (

The Murdoch family looked picturesque as they walked together in St. James Park. Baby Chelsea was tucked securely in her daddy-made baby carrier, riding along in front of her Daddy's chest, looking out on the path unfolding ahead. William Jr. rode his father's shoulders, while Katie rode her mother's. The parents locked elbows together and leaned towards each other entranced in conversation.

"Mrs. Murdoch," William began his argument, "Would not a dog, tail-wagging and happy, out in front of us, only improve the scene?"

"And who would walk this dog, William…" she tried to nip it in the bud, adding with a sarcastic tone, "every morning… every night?"

Conceding, he gave, "I do see your point."

" _Good,_ " she thought.

Actually, I've been thinking," William added, "I believe we will need to get _three_ dogs, when the time comes…"

"Three," Julia gasped with surprise. "What are you thinking, William, one per child?!" she exclaimed with the incredulousness of it.

 _So beautiful_ , she thought, _his chuckle_.

"Not exactly," he answered her. "No, um, well I realized that with the adoption of Chelsea and Katie, well… we fell quite naturally into the Fibonacci sequence…"

"Of course _,"_ she noted aloud, _shaking her head with her wonderment in this man, a part of her dashing off with the memory of his reading about Mendelian Genetics at the beach_ , "Why didn't I think of that – the Fibon…?

"The Fibonacci sequence," he pronounced the name again for her. "Leonardo Fibonacci, a twelfth-century Italian mathematician, performed a thought experiment in the reproduction of rabbits," William's eyes twinkled with delight as he lectured. "He discovered the most common number sequence in nature. It's found on pine cones and snail spirals on their shells, and nearly everything else…"

"I see," she said, patiently hearing him out. "And how does this mean _**we**_ need to get _**three**_ dogs?" she asked.

"It's the sequence. Starting with 1 – me, then another 1 – you, you add those two numbers together to get 2," he began explaining how it worked, "Then take the number before 2 and add it to the 2…"

"One plus two is three," she figured next to him, _such a good sport_.

"Yes," he enthusiastically declared, "And then you add that three to the number that was before it…"

"Two," she continued working with him to unfold the sequence, "So, two plus three is five."

"Just like our number sequence, Julia," he said. "The two of us became three with William Jr., and then five with Chelsea and Katie!"

"I see," she said, finding she was enjoying the game. "And if we follow the sequence, then we would add the number before our current five… three, to five… to get eight!"

"Yes, thus we need three dogs to follow the sequence, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8," he concluded. _Thirteen would be next, but he was cautious not to push his luck._

"Or three more children, of course," she teased, knowing his desire for what she believed to be a _huge_ family.

He wrinkled his face up, admitting his wish, "Well, if that…"

"Detective Murdoch! Dr. Ogden!" Madge Merton, the famous gossip columnist for the Toronto Daily Star Newspaper, called out.

"Miss Merton," William greeted.

The older, high-class woman raised her eyebrows in surprise. "And who do we have here?" she inquired.

"Yes, Miss Merton, it must be quite a shock," Julia said, "seeing our family grow exponentially."

William tilted forward, still balancing William Jr. on his shoulders and Chelsea in the baby carrier on his chest. "Well, not quite exponentially," he corrected. He reached up to lower William Jr. to the ground and then reached over to help lift Katie off of Julia's shoulders for their more formal introductions.

Julia laughed and explained, "Of course, detective. You see Miss Merton, we were just discussing how our family seems to be reproducing following the Fibonacci sequence…"

They politely introduced all the children to the woman, and illuminated her understanding of the fun theory they had been discussing, and then went on their way. Only a few steps on their own, Julia leaned close to William and said, "That could be trouble. We're sure to be part of her next story."

"It could be worse," he replied.

"True," she agreed, taking his arm once again. Surprisingly, for a brief second, she pictured a dog up ahead with William Jr. and Katie. " _Someday, perhaps_ ," she thought. She chuckled at herself in her head, correcting the image to picture _three_ dogs up ahead. _Anything was possible when they were together._

) (

"Welcome back, sir," Constable Crabtree's cheery voice announced Detective Murdoch's arrival to the stationhouse.

"Good to be back, George," the detective replied, collecting his big pile of mail from the constable at the front desk. He glanced down at the multitude of envelopes. " _I only missed Friday_ ," he wondered.

The Inspector heard Murdoch's arrival and came to his door. "How did the little one get on?" he asked after Chelsea.

Excitedly, William filled them all in on the new additions to his family.

When he finally got to his office, he noticed his blackboard had been erased. He twisted his head to the side, running his memories through his mind. His plans for making the cooler had been on it. He hadn't recorded the final calculations for the making of the polymer and it had worked well. He intended to make another cooler. Disappointment flooded through him, and he had to admit, some anger as well.

"George," he called out, hearing his own annoyance in his tone.

"Sir?" George appeared at his door instantly.

"What happened to my board?" the detective asked.

George's eyes rushed to join those of his superior gawking at the blank drawing board. His jaw dropped a bit. He hadn't noticed… till now. "I, er… I'm sorry sir. I don't know…"

"I had some calculations on there," William started to yell, but then stopped, working to calm himself.

"Yes. Yes sir, I remember," replied George.

"When did it get erased?" William asked, his eyes searching the constable's.

"I'm afraid I didn't notice, sir," came the reply.

"Well… Who was in here?" William pushed.

George ran the comings and goings of Friday through his head. He lifted his head and beamed with a thought. "I didn't actually see him in here, sir. But Terrence…"

"Terrence Meyers!" William exclaimed, gritting his teeth with the annoyance and bother he felt with the name.

Checking in with the Inspector, William learned that Meyers had stopped by to congratulate him on the adoption of his new daughter, clearly knowing he wouldn't be here. Of course, Meyers had had an ulterior motive for his visit, the Inspector explained.

Wishing it were scotch, but it was too early in the morning, the Inspector walked out into the bullpen, Murdoch and Crabtree in tow, and poured himself some tea instead. "Alpha and beta parts, or particles or some such thing, and changing one type of something into a different type of something…" He grew frustrated with his inability to understand the mumbo jumbo and grumbled, "Bollocks Murdoch! It didn't make any sense. He wanted you to help him figure out this bloody thing…"

William ran the various clues through his mind, _alpha and beta particles_ … "Could it have been about Rutherford's discovery of how radiation works. The discovery of half-life…"

"Yes! That was it," the Inspector interrupted, visibly relieved that he wouldn't have to try to figure it out anymore.

Murdoch elaborated, "It is speculated that Rutherford could receive the Nobel Prize for this. He would be the first Canadian to get the prize."

Pleased to see the detective's mood change from grumpy to excited, George asked, "Why would Meyers want to be dealing with whatever this radioactive, half-life stuff?"

His question pulling William back into the moment, he paused, "That's a good question George…"

"Don't forget, me old mucker, Meyers is a spy. And spies are sneaky," the Inspector said, now leading the group back into his office.

"That's true, sir," George continued the thought, "Perhaps it has to do with using the strange luminescence. Remember sir, the way the ghost glowed so ominously, in Queen's Park, after putting the radioactive cream on."

William considered the possibility, sitting down on the Inspector's couch and pulling his ankle up onto his knee.

George's speculations escalated, "Maybe the glow could be magnified, so it could be seen from outer space. That's it! The government is planning to secretly use radioactive substances to contact other worlds… of the non-terrestrial kind," George concluded, looking around and then slumping his shoulder s with a sigh, for once again, his superiors thought him crazy.

"I highly doubt that's it George," William scowled.

"Well Murdoch, you're the inventor, what dastardly plots could it be used for then? Surely our friend Meyers wasn't just making sure you were kept abreast on the latest Canadian scientific discoveries, now, was he?" the Inspector noted.

"No, no. I'm sure he wasn't," William agreed, his voice trailing off as he turned inward in search.

Impatient with the process, Brackenreid barked, "Very well detective, all to be considered. But for now, shall we get to the latest case. Dermott started it… But you'd best take it from here. Give him a call, and the body's over at their morgue. Dr. Reynolds started the autopsy. Do you want it moved?"

William planted both feet on the floor and slapped his hands to his thighs. " _Back to it then,"_ he thought. "I'll talk to Detective Dermott first, then we'll see. Thank you, sir."

Back in his office, he was confronted with the question as to why Meyers would have erased his board once again. He marched back and sheepishly asked.

"Oh," the Inspector said, "He was planning to draw the whole thing out for you. I guess he changed his mind… about leaving it there for all to see. Spies secrets and all that."

"Of course, sir," William answered. Satisfied, he headed back to his office once more.

A few hours later, after determining that the case Detective Dermott had started was best kept with Dermott, William sat at his desk catching up on paperwork. Julia knocked, lighting up his face. She had stepped out to buy some shoes for Katie, as they had noticed she had been walking incorrectly, diagnosing her tight shoes as the cause. She had some lunch, which they shared at his worktable.

"I wanted to buy her a few more toys," Julia said. William nodded. I was thinking maybe a doll house," she pushed for more.

The idea hit him with a spark. "Julia," he said, with that lovely awe he could have in his voice, humming her every molecule, "We could give her the model… of our house!"

"Perfect William!" she declared, leaning over from her stool to give him a congratulatory kiss.

"I can cut off some of the walls and put them on hinges, so they can be opened and closed…" the ideas started to domino.

"We'll need some furniture. And dolls," Julia added, bouncing with delight.

"Let's check at Eaton's, on our way home," he suggested. Happy with their plans, they decided to finish up quickly, hoping to be able to leave early.

Later, right before he put on his hat to leave, a thought jolted through William's head. _He had had something else on the back of his drawing board. Was it still there?"_ he worried. He rushed over and flipped the large board over.

Blank. Completely blank. " _Why would Meyers erase both sides of the board?!"_ he wondered suspiciously. Not wanting to be late picking up Julia over at the morgue, he tapped his homburg on his head and grabbed his jacket. Still, his thoughts ran in his head. _He had been working on making a special kind of transparent shield, that constables could use when confronting armed suspects or kidnappers. It would be see-through, but resist bullet penetration. He had been playing with the right balance of the softer, more supple, celluloid layers and the glass layers. Striking a balance between thick enough to protect, and too heavy to manipulate, had been challenging. He had, however, worked out the correct materials to use to minimize refraction differences between the materials, obtaining the transparency needed…_

"Detective!" Julia's bright voice called his attention. "I do hope you are still welcome at Eaton's after your sourpuss behavior that Christmas you went undercover at the Returns Counter," she teased, with a mischievous giggle, taking his arm.

) (

Midweek, the Murdoch's had finished another delicious dinner, thanks to Eloise. The children wanted to play with the new doll house, for even William Jr. found the new toy intriguing. Chelsea was happy to just be with her older siblings. "William Jr., you need to make sure all the little people from your toy passenger ship are put away so Chelsea can't get them into her mouth," Julia warned after them, as William escorted them down to the playroom in the basement. Her husband soon returned to sit with her while Julia finished up her dessert.

Eloise worked to finish up in the background. She complimented, "The doll house you made for them, detective… it's fantastic."

"Yes, William. They clearly love it," Julia seconded the woman's comment. "I dare say," her tone held a serious note, "I hope you will be able to handle the inevitable destruction of your beautiful model, now that it is functioning as a children's toy."

He smiled as he reached for the newspaper Eloise had left on the window seat behind him. "I think of it much like Blanco the rabbit," he explained, turning the pages, "there will be physical evidence of being passionately loved."

"That there will," his wife agreed, a flirtatious sparkle in her eye. _Her mind replayed his utter and delicious exhaustion, his hunky body peppered with her wild love-bites, a few nights prior, after their rather rowdy and rambunctious lovemaking._ She giggled quietly, trying to catch his eye. "Lucky rabbit," she teased.

A chastising expression covered her face, for he was ignoring her, seemingly enthralled with the newspaper. She proceeded to punish him for his distraction, going on and on about how unlikely it would be for the rabbit to _**ever, ever**_ be that lucky again…

His eyes still down on the paper, he gave her reason to believe he had _not_ been ignoring her – well at least not completely. "Mrs. Murdoch," his voice sly, "I must protest against your notion that my momentary inattentiveness should cost… the rabbit, any such thing…"

"And why is that, Mr. Murdoch," she leaned closer to him from her side of the table, enjoying the playful banter. William turned the paper around and placed it down in front of her to see. The center photograph was large. It was of the five of them walking in the park, William Jr. and Katie up on their parents' shoulders, Chelsea in a baby carrier on William's chest. It was truly a remarkable photograph of them – one she would have wanted hanging on their wall, in other circumstances. She and William were arm in arm, heads tilted towards each other. He looked handsome, gorgeous as usual… she herself looked lovely…

"William wrinkled his face, as if asking for forgiveness, though he'd clearly done nothing wrong. "Nice photo," he offered.

The headline read, "The Murdoch's Reproduce like Rabbits." She could have done without the suggestive innuendo. Before she began reading the text, she perused the two or three other photos embedded in the full-page article. Julia held back a gasp, catching sight of another stunning picture. It was of the two of them kissing, at the Policeman's Ball, back on New Year's Eve. Her eyes jumped to gaze into William's. "Somebody photographed that?" she squeaked.

He remembered… that she would never have seen it, having had left for Vienna before the story of their scandalous, adulterous kiss, _kisses_ actually, had been published. He shrugged and smiled, and charmed her right back into happiness. "The fireworks sparkling all around our heads was fitting," he said.

"Yes," she answered, her eyebrow softly lifting. Attention back to the newspaper, she soon figured out the article told their _entire_ story, in black and white, for all the world to see. There was even a photograph from their first dance together at the Dinosaur Ball. " _How did they possibly even find that?"_ she wondered, studying it more carefully, noting it had been flashed after William had thwarted the destruction of the dinosaur bone, and they had found the body clamped in the Tyrannosaurus rex teeth, the two of them dressed in a tux and a gown, but acting as detective and coroner. The final smaller photograph was of the two of them and baby William Jr., when she and the baby were finally going home from the hospital after weeks recovering from her Cesarean section – the surgical procedure performed by William of all things.

She sighed. "As a columnist, it would be a hard story to pass up," she admitted.

He nodded. "Mm-hmm," he replied. He cleared his throat and said, pointing to the paragraph, "They mention the court case, you being found guilty of killing Darcy, and…

"The affair," she whispered. She looked into his beautiful brown eyes, "the one that we didn't really have," she worried and twisted with the irony.

"His finger moved, resting just above the words, "the Queen's Hotel."

 _Julia's hand covered her mouth, muffling her gasp. It was a tell-all… with lots of sweet parts true, but still, a tell-all_! Suddenly Julia asked, "Have you read this article… Eloise, about us, I mean?"

"Yes," the older woman replied, her tone nonchalant, with sprinkle of warmth, "But it didn't say anything I didn't already know – except the Fibonacci rabbit reproduction sequence thing, of course."

Julia raised her eyebrow at William, blaming him for the suggestive headline. "Of course," she charged.

"They quoted you, not me," he returned cockily, his finger now resting just above _**her**_ name in the newsprint.

She leaned as far over to his side of the table as possible, waiting for him to meet her halfway. "Well, if all the world is going to think we are mating like rabbits, we might as well live up to the expectation," she said, tilting her head and inviting a kiss.

Obliging her sultry request, his lips covered hers, moving, bending, so soft and tender. For the Murdoch's, it seemed it was always rabbit season.


	4. Ch4: Being Only Four

Back to the Drawing Board_Chapter 4: Being Only Four

) (

The flashes struck through his awareness, seemingly from even before he had opened his eyes, on this beautiful Saturday morning… Of her soft, jiggly body, swaying and pumping on him, around him, hot and slippery, enticing, seducing, irresistible, in the flickers and booms of the midnight thunderstorm. So magical and alluring was the sensation that he entertained, for a moment, the thought that it had been fantasy rather than truth. His fingers slipped up to his neck – the heat, the swelling – _the mark was there_. His body bucked up involuntarily with the memory of her dropping down onto his chest and seizing that very spot, then their harmonious moans piercing the air, right before he flipped her and drove them both over the edge of their wildest dreams… all in the midst of the thunderous, passionate, frenzied storm. A contented sigh escaped from his chest as he allowed the happiness to sink deeper and deeper into him.

The sound was miniscule, yet he detected it. It was his son's door, opening. The pitter-patter of the four-year old's bare feet making the brisk walk down the hallway. " _Blessed, truly blessed_ ," he thought to himself as he noticed the footsteps moved, not towards their bedroom door, but rather towards that of their boy's little sisters. William rolled over, wrapping his arm around his wife's supple, delicious body. Heavenly, the feeling of her naked skin gliding under his. He tucked his hand up between her breasts, nosed and nuzzled his way through her curls to find her ear, and then nibbled and kissed her to consciousness. Inside his head, he chuckled, for in that moment he saw himself as the charming Prince, and she, his Sleeping Beauty.

"The children are on their way," he whispered to her. It would be a mad dash to find their nightclothes, and get them on, before the inevitable arrival of the little knock on the door.

"I hope they're careful with Chelsea," Julia replied, as she rolled over to face her husband and found herself, as was customary, taken by how handsome he was, especially in this rosy, early morning light. Their youngest daughter, now just over a year old, had become quite accomplished at walking. However, getting her out of her crib, for young William Jr. and Katie, was challenging, requiring team work and often some grunt-work too.

The pitter-patter, now peppered with tiny voices, sounded down the hall. "They're getting faster at it," William beamed proudly from where he now stood on side of the bed, as he found his pajama bottoms and stepped into them. On the floor, next to his pajama top was her nightgown, which he tossed to her. "Mrs. Murdoch, your gown," he said.

"Such a gentleman," she responded, rushing to arrange the bundle in the best way to quickly pull it over her head.

The knock came. As usual, it was William Jr.'s voice first, "Mommy? Daddy?"

Julia slithered down into her nightgown and peeked over at her husband, just catching sight of his ripply stomach muscles as they disappeared under his pajama top. He jumped under the covers next to her, tossed the blankets over their heads, and pulled her down into a ball – hiding.

"Come in," he called, sharing an anticipating giggle with her.

Still too young to grasp feigning ignorance and playing along with the potential game of hide-and-seek, the children quickly spotted the parental bulge in the middle of the bed and attacked. Gleeful giggles and shrieks, and flailing pillows, and bouncing child bodies, and growling daddies and mommies filled the air with Murdochian roughhousing happiness. Eventually the swell passed and the spent pile of the five of them huddled together, panting and smiling and loving.

Katie gave her daddy a kiss on the cheek and declared, "Daddy, you need shaving!" Her tiny fingers stroked across his stubbly overgrowth.

William Jr. bound and crawled over his mother's body to join in on the exploration of his father's manly feature. "Do you think I will have to shave soon?" he asked excitedly.

Not wanting to miss her chance, Julia sat up next to them, little Chelsea in her arms, and she, too, reached a hand over to find a spot on her husband's jawline to fondle. "Not soon, little one," she answered her son, "But your time will come," she said.

"Can we watch?" Katie asked…

"Can I pretend to shave with you Daddy?" William Jr. asked.

"Me too!?" Katie quickly added, "And Chelsea too?"

William crawled out of bed shaking his head at the somewhat preposterous idea. Yielding, he said, "I'll have to make extra shaving cream then." The brood headed for the bathroom behind him.

Happily, the three children sat together on the bathroom countertop, shaving cream spread over their faces, taking turns sharing the non-working end of a toothbrush to be their "razor."

William, his real razor stroking along his neck, arrived at the location of his " _lovebite_ ," and switched to a more cautious motion with the blade gliding carefully over his tender flesh. Turning to see him, Katie spotted the red mark as the white shaving cream was removed. "Did you hurt yourself, Daddy," she asked, drawing all eyes to his _injury_.

Instantly, Julia remembered making the mark on her husband during their lovemaking in the middle of the night. Her womb knotted tight, uncontrollably. _My God_ , it had been powerful, their shared clandestine favorite, amid the whirlwind and the roaring of a primal thunderstorm.

"My tie was too tight," William offered, providing an alternative explanation for the wound to his daughter, to his son, expecting the youngsters not to recognize that the mark was too high above the level where his collar touched his skin for his tie to have been the culprit.

Finished, the children were sent off to start brushing their teeth – with the working end of their toothbrushes this time – while their parents got dressed. Julia brushed her teeth and William talked with her, seating himself on the countertop. They started planning for the day, he, wanting time to work out with his weights, she, time to plan her next lecture at the University. Without directly telling her his scheme, William informed her that he needed to take the children shopping. However, she knew – it was shopping for gifts for her, for tomorrow was Mother's Day.

Chuckling internally at her body's reaction upon noticing him reach back to take hold of his pajama top, readying to pull it off over his head, Julia smiled, placed her toothbrush in its cup, and stepped over to stand in front of him. She opened his legs and slipped in close to him, traveling his stomach and chest with her fingers. Slowly, seductively, she pressed her marshmallowy body into his firmer, harder one, then scraped her fingernails across his scalp. Her warm breath in his ear, her cheek, feather-soft, fluttered over his cheek, the tenderest of kisses touched his lips. "Mmm," she moaned, rubbing her face along his once more. Taking a deep breath, sucking him in, down, deep, she whispered, almost purred, "I so love the smell of you."

His voice responded, trying to tease, scratchy with his rising lust, "I thought you preferred the stubble… as an aphrodisiac…"

Right before she kissed him, this time much more passionately, she replied, "Mmm, I like this too." Dizziness and torrential urges swelled between them, inside of them, twisting, and tweaking, and jolting…

Suddenly, he knew, unsure whether it was a sound, or perhaps a shadow out of the corner of his eye – the children were there, waiting for them to stop kissing.

"William Jr.," he said, pulling back from his wife's loving embrace. He heard Julia clear her throat, rush to settle… to land.

Ever the spokesman, William Jr. asked the children's burning question, "Daddy, are you going to be the cooker?"

Stepping back from her husband, far enough for him to see the playful scowl on her face, Julia said, "Four years old and he already knows how to veil an insult." _Lovely, absolutely lovely, William's resulting laugh rang her ears._

Growing large with feigned insult, Julia turned to her son and threatened, eyebrow raised high, "William Henry Lionel Murdoch Jr., are you saying your _**mother**_ does not cook a good breakfast?!"

The small boy's heart pounded in his chest, anticipating the game. He backed away, bumping into Katie behind him, and answered, rushing, already turning to run, "As long as there's no toast, maybe…"

With that, the game was afoot, for it was already Murdoch family legend that their mother always burned the toast, and that she was destined to be teased about it until the end of her days. She took up chase, Murdoch children scattering about, this way and that.

William sat this round out, watching from the sidelines, piping in with sports commentary to enlighten all involved and add to the fun. After a time, sensing exhaustion around the corner, he stepped into the mayhem and offered a truce. "I have a deal, Mrs. Murdoch," he started.

Pillows stilled. Chests heaving up and down, the room paused and listened.

"I will cook breakfast, if you take charge of getting these three wild and unruly children dressed," he suggested. The terms were quickly agreed to, and the children bolted off to their bedrooms to begin the choosing of their clothing for the day.

Before taking her leave, Julia flirted with him once more, admiring his naked chest with her eyes, and then her hands. "May I propose, handsome husband, that you be," she paused to use their son's term, "the cooker, with _this ensemble_ as your chefly attire," she whispered her intimate wish.

His big, brown eyes, gorgeous and melting, met hers, dashing with a twinkle as he devised a reply. "Bacon spatter may be a problem," he complained, adding his customary face wrinkle.

"True," she gave, her finger tracing a scar just below his heart, where an arrow had pierced his flesh, nearly taking his life so many years before. Her blue eyes dropped down to more intently re-examine the memory. "Although from the look of you…"

He tucked a finger under her chin, lifting her face to gaze into his. Unspoken, the worry, and its subsequent and agreed upon understanding between them, that they would live their lives cherishing each moment they could be together. He kissed her. Their passion grew. It reminded, from a recess in her mind somewhere, _the children were waiting_. "Tonight," she stopped him, out of breath.

"Tonight," he repeated, stepping back.

A shared memory, of the first time – _almost_ , of a picnic, and absinthe, and roused passions – danced between them, now grateful that the utterance lacked the word, ' _ **not**_ ,' for he had coached himself aloud back then, " _ **Not**_ _tonight_ ," implying it would be another time, and now, the pledge was more assured.

) (

The shop owner's dark eyes blatantly staring down at the mark on William's neck, Oscar Ducharme flamboyantly asked, "And the lovely Dr. Ogden, detective, she is well?"

Uncomfortable, William involuntarily ticked his head to the side and fussed with his collar, answering, "She is. These are our children… It's Moth…"

"Of course," the tall man excitedly interrupted, turning his attention to the three young children politely standing at their father's side. "You will be wanting to buy her some beautiful things for her special day!" he declared, rubbing his hands together with glee.

"Yes," William answered, lifting the smallest, Chelsea, into his arms, "And I was hoping she might have had her eye on a few things here that we cou… I mean that _the children_ could give to their mother for Mother's Day tomorrow." He inhaled deeply, bracing himself against his fear, for the whole venture would likely be costing him a fortune, considering his wife's tastes and Mr. Ducharme's inventory. He squirmed with the feeling of being a sitting duck in the man's secret little Parisian shop.

"Julia just adores this necklace. She has almost bought it at least three times… always returning it just before making the rest of her purchase," Mr. Ducharme guided them, as expected, to the most expensive piece of jewelry in the case.

The children's eyes bugged out of their heads with the sight of the sparkly blue necklace. "Wow," William Jr. and Katie declared in unison.

"A woman like your wife deserves the finer things," Ducharme pushed.

It annoyed William, the man's employment of the exact same words used to needle him into buying a different necklace for Julia, the last time he was in here with her, while working on a case. Further, he worried that William Jr. and Katie might _**both**_ want to give her this necklace. Fighting between them had been becoming an issue as of late. "She does love blue," he said, stalling for time to think…

"To match her remarkable eyes," Ducharme praised, "So much like those of her beautiful daughters, I see." The man seemed to not notice his customer rolling his eyes, unsold by the shop-owner's attempts at flattery.

William swallowed, realizing the cost would be even more dear with the solution to the sibling rivalry problem that had come to mind, and asked, "Was there perhaps a _second_ item… that she loves as much, for a _second_ gift?"

Unable to cover his excitement, Ducharme led them over to a gilded picture frame. William, knowing Julia would have been embarrassed at his actions, found he was still unable to control them, and he turned the little white tag, dangling below the golden frame, over to see the price. His eyes bolted to glare into Mr. Ducharme's, revealing his astonishment.

"It's gold leaf, Detective Murdoch, and of course, exquisite. Your wife has told me she would buy it in a second if she had an equally stunning photograph. She considered your wedding photo, but the frame was too large for it," he persuaded.

William could not believe his luck. It was even the exact right size for the photograph he was having professionally painted for Julia for his gift to the mother of his children. He was fighting it, but he knew he would be buying this outlandishly priced frame. His sigh betrayed his inner struggle.

"May I suggest that your daughters give their delightful mother the stunning blue necklace and your son this magnificent frame," Ducharme irritatingly pressed on.

It was then that William Jr. told them, stating that, being almost five, he was _too old_ to have his father buy his Mother's Day gift for him. He already knew what he was going to give his mother. Proudly the young boy insisted that his father _not_ buy a gift from him, suggesting they could save the money, or that Chelsea could give one of the gifts.

Unbelievable really, his son's news affording William the opportunity to _not_ purchase the costly frame, and yet, the Murdoch's still left Oscar Ducharme's secluded little Parisian shop with the blue necklace, and some of Julia's favorite perfume, _**and**_ with the gilded picture frame. Daughter Chelsea, and treasured gifts, in his arms, his two older children at his side, William paused at the corner, deciding which way to go. It was more a feeling, an instinct, than something he actually observed, but he thought they were being watched, maybe followed, and he searched the area for the culprit.

"Can we get some ice cream, Daddy?" Katie asked.

"Crème," little Chelsea chanted with a bounce.

"Sounds delightful," he replied, still gazing off into the distance suspiciously. Seeing no one that stood out, he turned right, and they went to the ice cream shop. On the way home, William still checked the area as they stopped to pick up his finished photograph, seeing no one dubious. Then they went home.

) (

After having endured their mother's breakfast – including the burnt toast, for their father was off at Church, the Murdoch children prepared – in what they believed to be secret – for Mother's Day. Down in the basement playroom, they made cards. Their father had written out a few sayings, such as "Happy Mother's Day," and "I love you Mommy," for them to copy. William Jr. had previously learned to write a few words and he knew how to write his own name. Katie had recently learned to write her name too.

William Jr. finished his card quickly and then left in a hurry, not telling his mother. He needed to put his plan into action. Time was running out. They would be giving their mother her gifts at lunchtime, and he still had not collected all of the flowers for his mother's bouquet. He was particularly worried about his crowning jewel – the beautiful orange tiger lily he had seen on the other side of the pond at the northern edge of their woods. There was a big dog that was sometimes outside there, and he would need to be stealthy, so as not to rouse its attention.

It was nearly an hour before the boy returned home, successful, with a confident smile on his face. " _Wait till she sees the beautiful flower,_ " the youngster told himself, his chest puffing out with pride. Entering through the side door by the kitchen, William Jr. had hoped to go unnoticed, but such hopes were quickly thwarted, for it seemed his mother had been waiting for him, meeting him in the hallway. Abruptly he shoved the bouquet behind his back.

"Mommy," the small boy said, having no idea what to say next.

Julia's heart ached with the burning of the love that exploded inside of her with the sight of her son sneaking around, hiding, what she was sure was her gift, from her. Her smile was warm, easing his concerns. As nonchalantly as possible she asked, "Is everything alright, little one?"

William Jr.'s head nodded so rambunctiously it appeared it might fall off as he exclaimed, too loudly, "Oh yes, Mommy! Everything's fine."

Julia stepped aside, clearing the way for him, and he danced and jigged past her, somehow managing to keep the gift out of her line of sight and then bolted up to his room and closed the bedroom door behind him. " _Truly lovely_ ," Julia thought to herself, shaking her head with astonishment and happiness. _She'd best check on the girls_ , she thought, being sure to announce her approach as she started down the stairs, giving them ample time to hide their presents as well.

) (

After the Murdoch's finished off lunch, Julia was escorted to the living room sofa, where she was asked to sit back and enjoy a glass of wine. Finally, the Mother's Day celebration had begun! One by one, she was showered with her gifts and cards and kisses and hugs. The first present was from Chelsea, her favorite perfume, then from Katie, the most delightful necklace, one she had coveted for months.

Upon receiving the perfect selections, she gave her husband a knowing look, sharing with him her acknowledgement of his clever idea to shop at Oscar Ducharme's establishment. "I must say, William, there are times I am quite grateful for having married such a good detective," she glowed and teased.

He gave her a nod. Then, wanting to celebrate their son's independence, William changed the subject, telling her, "I'll have you know, Julia, that William Jr.'s gift is completely of his own doing. He had no help from me." With that, all eyes turned to William Jr.

"It's up in my room," he jumped up with the declaration. "Wait here!" he blurted out, then ran as fast as his legs could take him up the stairs to his room, only hesitating for a moment to admire his beautiful gift, before bolting back down the stairs with it. It was Eloise who had given him the idea a few days ago, when she had been emptying a vase of the wilting dozen roses his father had bought for his mother. She had told him that the fancy vase was very pretty, but even a milk bottle would look beautiful next to such splendid flowers. Now, he had decorated a milk bottle with some sequins and buttons (also with Eloise's help) and filled it with colorful and abundant wildflowers. In the center, big, and bold, and beautiful, was the glorious orange tiger lily. _She was sure to love it!_

 _Oh, and by golly, she did!_ His mother exclaimed and gasped and gushed with excitement over the wonderful flowers, giving William Jr. a rowdy hug and kiss.

But… there was a problem.

And William sat across from the joy and celebration battling with his emotions and his conscience, trying to decide what to do, working to hold back his anger and disappointment, until he could be in control…

"Son," the man-of-the-house's voice broke the mood. A tingle ran up Julia's spine. All eyes turned to look into William's big, dark eyes… wondering, worrying.

His question offered a tone of threat, signaling the boy had best be thoughtful, and truthful, in his reply. "Where did you get the big orange one in the middle?" the child's father asked.

His father's eyes were stuck to his. With all his might, he wanted to look away, but he was stuck. And the disapproval seeped into him, and his small-boy heart thundered and panicked, and the floor seemed to spin, and he couldn't breathe and he couldn't speak.

Rushing to her son's rescue, Julia ventured at calming her husband down. "There's no need to interrogate your son, William. Is there?" she asked.

Importantly, the two sets of eyes remained transfixed. Without looking away, William answered his wife, in doing so letting her know that he would pursue the truth even if it meant confronting her as well. "Such a flower does not grow in the wild. It must be planted and nurtured, from a bulb, back before the winter," he laid out his evidence. William leaned closer to his son and repeated, "Where did you get it?"

Tears filled the boy's eyes, for he could not withstand having his father look at him this way, seeing his father think of him so badly. _His mind showed him the answer to the question, the picked flower's stem now standing stiff and barren on the other side of the pond, as viewed from just within the edge of the woods_ , but still, the words would not come. He stammered, trying, but so, so frightened of what he knew would come once his father knew for sure. "It… uh, um… I, uh…"

"Did you take it from someone's garden?" his father asked more specifically.

William Jr. managed to shake his head, denying it, _for it was not really a garden_ , just a bunch of flowers near a pond.

"Was it on our property?" came the next, damning, question.

The tears flowed down his cheeks now, and he shook his head and scratched out the courage to answer, "No. It was from the pond."

"So, you stole it, from Judge Matthews' property," William concluded with his teeth clenched as tried to restrain his anger. He failed, his inner dam bursting open. "No son of mine is going to go around stealing flowers from our neighbors – even if it is for a gift for your mother!" he ordered. "I will not have it. You should be ashamed of yourself William Jr." he steamed, slapping his thigh, and then standing and turning away. He coached himself. He needed to calm down. He heard Julia's voice in his head, " _He's only four, William_ …"

William forced himself to take a deep breath. He turned back to face them, only glancing briefly at Julia, seeing her mouth gritted. She too was fighting her internal demons. He said, more calmly, "You go up to your room and think about what you have done."

It would not be possible to go fast enough, but William Jr. tried, running faster than he had ever run before, he held back his mountainous sobs, until he could dive his head into his pillow and scream, undetected, with his pain. Unbearable, the shame…

Their son's bawling could be heard from the landing of the staircase where William and Julia stood, as it ripped and rippled through his bedroom door into their souls. Such a tiny boy, making such a tortured sound. "It's heartbreaking," Julia said, finally finding words, the utterance escaping her confines without her choice.

His wails barely understandable, muffled by the pillow, William Jr. sobbed, "I just wanted a pretty flower for Mommy," eventually the crying becoming more, more audible, loudly spiced with his indignation, the boy having lifted his head out of the pillow, he screamed, "All I wanted was to give Mommy a pretty flower!"

The parents whispered back and forth, about learning right from wrong, and the child's young age and his ability to understand the morality of what he had done.

The time came when William Jr.'s tone lowered, and he took a deep breath, and looked up, and he noticed… _Blanco was not in his room – left in basement playroom! He didn't have Blanco, and he was banished to his room!_ He fell apart with the burden of it, his last bastion of comfort gone. The tiny child rushed to the door, banged against it as he crumbled to the floor, for he knew he was not allowed to open it. He cried so terribly hard.

His desperation tore their heartstrings to shreds. "I want Blanco. Please Daddy. I want Blanco…"

William turned to Julia, her seeing in his big eyes his own suffering serving to reconnect them more solidly. He ran downstairs to get the stuffed rabbit. At the foot of the stairs, he found Katie and Chelsea and reassured them that it would be alright. He brought them down into the basement with him and asked them to play for a little while. William found the rabbit and rushed back up.

Chest heaving, William handed Blanco to Julia, but she wouldn't take the toy. "It's not my relationship with him that has been wounded, William," she advised. She gave him a kiss on the cheek for encouragement, and William walked to his son's bedroom door with the stuffed rabbit in hand… a deep breath, before his knock.

"Little man," he said, "I'm going to come in." He heard the boy scuttle on the other side of the door, and he turned the knob and stepped inside. William Jr. had jumped back on the bed and submerged his head in his pillow. He was crying quietly – shame entrapping him, not wanting his father to be able to see him, but helpless, unable to hide, he buried his eyes.

Nameless, the emotions William felt seize him, some regret, certainly, but the urgency of it threatened to paralyze him. His son seemed inconsolable. He had to try. A deep breath, then he sat on the edge of the bed.

William Jr. reacted to the shifting weight on the mattress and squirmed closer to the wall.

"I brought you Blanco," William said.

William Jr. tried to hold his breath, tried not to make a sound, but his crying resumed after a big gasp, as he felt his father lie down on the bed next to him. He so wanted his father to love him. He was so scared.

"Don't you want him?" William asked.

William Jr. was too proud to take the toy rabbit – his body remained still, but for the tiny vibrations from his crying.

Out of the blue, it occurred to William to let his son know he had empathy for him, to let him know he was not alone. "Son," his voice was low, warm, "I know your heart was in the right place when you picked that flower for Mommy. I know you wanted to make her happy…" He rubbed the boy's back, felt a surge of hope, for William Jr. did not pull away. "You wanted to see that beautiful smile your mother has when she's happy… when you know you did something that made her happy."

William Jr. nodded into the pillow.

"Come on little man," he urged as he sat up, "Come here. Sit with me and Blanco for a minute," his father invited.

A sigh of relief slid free from William's chest as William Jr. crawled over to sit next to him. The little boy rubbed his eyes, and his father used his handkerchief to dry his runny nose. He offered his son Blanco once more.

The boy's big, beautiful brown eyes searched his father's face for judgement. "I'm too old for him," he said.

William leaned close and confided, "Sometimes you feel too grown up for Blanco, sometimes you don't. That's what happens as you get bigger. When I was your age, I had a stuffed bear…"

"A bear, Daddy… You?!" the boy marveled, receiving a nod, "What was his name?" William Jr. asked.

William reached up with a clean edge of his handkerchief and wiped away a tear from his son's cheek. "His name was Bear," he said, "And I told him all my secrets. He helped me feel like I had a companion, when my sister was too annoying, and sometimes if my father was too scary… or my mother too sad, and it seemed like no matter what I did, I couldn't fix it," William sighed, feeling the memories rising up in his chest. He went on, "There came a time when I didn't talk to Bear anymore, but honestly, I don't remember when that was, I just know that by the time I went to live with my Aunt, I didn't have Bear anymore. That's probably how it will happen with you and Blanco too…" He leaned even closer and said, "But don't you feel you have to give him up in order to grow up. I promise, son, you'll grow up. I recommend that you love Blanco as much as you want… while you can." William put his arm around his son, in that moment remembering that it was when his dog, Duke, had followed him home that he didn't need Bear anymore. It was all so long ago.

William held Blanco up in front of his son, offering him the stuffed rabbit again with a friendly wiggle, and William Jr. took the stuffed animal and climbed into his daddy's lap. Safe and secure, William prepared to tackle the bigger problem at hand. "Now little man, let's try to figure out how you can tell which things it is alright to take and which things it is not, O.K?" he began.

"O.K. Daddy," came the boy's reply, with a sniffle.

William explained, "It helps to _imagine_ how _**all**_ the people involved with the thing you want to take will feel _after_ you have taken it – in this case, after you would have taken the flower. So, before you took the flower, I suspect you imagined Mommy smiling and gasping with joy when she saw your beautiful flower in the nice vase you made for her…"

William Jr. nodded.

"And, maybe you even imagined Katie being jealous of you giving such a good gift, all on your own?" his father suggested.

William Jr. shrugged.

" _Now comes the kicker,"_ William thought. "How do you think Judge Matthews is felt when he saw nothing but the stem, naked of the flower, and he knew that his beautiful flower was gone – taken?"

 _It hit the little boy for the first time, and in that instant he felt it, remorse_. "Bad," he answered, the heaviness of concern in his voice.

"So you see, if you had imagined _**everyone**_ involved," William encouraged with a gentle squeeze, "then you might not have taken the flower in the first place, right?"

William Jr. nodded and his face grew red and his brow wrinkled, and he started to cry.

 _William wondered at his feelings of love for this boy – his boy_. "Hey there, it's alright. You are such a young child still, son. You're just learning, and you will make mistakes. It's O.K. You are still such a good, good, boy," he reassured, leaning down to kiss the boy's thick, wavy black hair and rocking them back and forth. He tilted over to find his son's eyes. "Let's think of how you could have gotten Mommy such a nice flower in a _different_ way…"

Together, they figured out that it would have been best to get bulbs and plant them… on their own property. Then Mommy would be able to have flowers every spring. With that, they took off to set such a plan into motion, going the Club, where William knew the gardener. Later, William Jr., under the guise of his father, planted the beautiful tiger lilies, some of the bulbs in bloom, others dormant and thus more likely to grow back in subsequent years.

Relieved now that the moral maelstrom had been resolved, all the Murdoch's were happy. They ate their delicious, daddy-prepared, Sunday meal, capping off the celebration of Mother's Day. Then came the woman-of-the-house's final treat. William gave Julia his gift, the breathtaking photograph Julia had so admired, of the five of them walking in the park with William Jr. and Katie riding up on their parents' shoulders – from the newspaper article about the Murdoch's reproducing like Fibonacci rabbits. The rare and beautiful photograph was embedded in the gilded picture frame from Mr. Ducharme's shop. Julia was flabbergasted that William Murdoch, of all people, would purchase such an extravagant frame, oohing and aahing to make it apparent that it was a gift she would always treasure. William had arranged for an artist to color the newspaper's black and white photo, making the picture a work of art, outstanding in its detail and warmth. This special gift, he gave to the mother of his children. There was a special satisfaction, after the emotional events of the day, when William caught his son's eye, the young boy sharing in his father's happiness at having made Julia smile.

The family settled in after the family picture was hung in the perfect place on the wall. Inevitably, their eyes came to dwell upon the stolen orange flower, still in its well-decorated milk-bottle vase, placed in the center of the living room coffee-table. Its theft now louder than its beauty, around it, angst lingered.

"I'm sorry Daddy," William Jr. offered, his tone sad, defeated.

 _Julia noticed her son wrinkled a corner of his mouth, just like William tended to do with his apologies, and she found her heart warmly erupting with love for both her son and her husband with the thought._ "It has already been picked, so I think we should enjoy it. It is truly a beautiful bouquet, with an exquisite center flower," she paused for the words to come, "And it came to us offering such an important lesson, hmm?" she said, gesturing for William Jr. to come sit with her on the sofa. Her son came to her, nestled into her arms.

The family talked out the feelings of regret William Jr. still held about taking the flower, coming to the conclusion that William Jr. could repair his mistake best by replacing Judge Matthew's stolen tiger lily with one of ones he had planted in their yard for his mother. Once the solution was found, William Jr. and William were both eager to get it done. The sun was still an hour or so away from setting, and they agreed they would both sleep better if they had completed this final task. Thus, William Jr. and his father set out on their quest to right the wrong.

) (

William watched, from the brush-line where their woods bordered Judge Matthews' property. William Jr. had made his way, trowel, flower and extra bulb in hand, to the opposite side of the small pond where the other orange tiger lilies fluttered about softly in the setting Sun. Having been told about the big dog who sometimes suddenly appeared, William was apprehensive, fighting every muscle in his body, wanting to be by his little boy's side. His heart skipped a beat when he saw it, off in the distance behind William Jr., now nearly finished digging the two holes in the dirt. There was a man's silhouette in the backdoor of the Judge's big house. " _Judge Matthews has spotted him!"_ William warned himself, jolting to high alert, looking for any signs of the Judge's dog.

Without thinking, he rushed forward out into the open, his mind trying to decide whether or not to call out to his son. Then, a quick glance back at the house halted him. The Judge was signaling him, gently pushing his held-out hand forward and back, requesting William to cease in his advancing. Then the judge whisked his wrist a few times, shooing him, indicating that William should move back into the woods. In that moment, William, as a father, had to decide if he trusted this man to do right by his son – _this same man who had sat on the Bench and sentenced Julia to the noose._ To William's own surprise, he stepped back, withdrew, allowing the Judge to handle the situation, at least for now.

"You there… Young man, what is it you're doing on my property… to my flowers?" Judge Matthews' manly voice startled William Jr.

The boy twitched, jumped to stand upright, facing the challenge head on. The Judge continued walking closer, glancing up at Murdoch in the shadowy woods back in the distance behind his son. He was soon close enough to clearly see that the small boy had dug two holes in the dirt and, resting off to the side, waiting to be planted, there was a tiger lily bloom complete with its bulb and roots, as well as an unsprouted bulb.

 _William Jr. pushed his feet firmly into the ground with all his might, calling his courage. In his mind, he imagined his father watching them, and he knew one thing for sure, he wanted to be brave, and honest, and good._ "I made mistake… and now I'm trying to fix it," William Jr. said, his voice starting off too low, but then surging in volume… _striving to be brave and true_.

"You're giving me a _**new**_ flower? You took one of mine?" the Judge put the situation together quickly in his mind, spying the plucked flower's stem off to the side.

Nodding, William Jr. answered, "Yes, sir… for my mother… uh, for Moth…"

Judge Matthews interrupted, asking, "You Detective Murdoch's boy?"

"Yes sir," came the small boy's reply, his big brown eyes so wide and warm in the dusky light.

The Judge took a deep breath, somehow helping to put the youngster at ease. His voice lower, calmer, safer, he said, "You look like him. And your mother… she's that pretty doctor… Dr. Ogden?" he asked.

"Yes sir," the boy answered, puffing up with pride, for his mother truly was pretty.

The Judge seemed to lose his focus, peering off at another place on his property, as if looking for something specific. He asked, still perusing the environs, "She's got blue eyes doesn't she, son?" Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the child nod. A smile grew on his face, for he had spotted what he had been hoping for – they had bloomed in all their glory – his blue irises…

) (

"He said to put them far away from the other flowers cause blue irises grow like wildfire, and will take over," William Jr. had explained to his father. Now nearly done, the two of them hurried to finish planting the large blue irises into the dirt in the remaining few moments of twilight. Hands and knees brown with soil, they called the rest of the family to see the prize. Julia's reaction was priceless, a big and happy surprise, and a bright smile that would linger in her little son's mind for a lifetime. It seems, that besides learning about taking responsibility for one's actions today, William Jr. had also been taught a lesson in generosity.

"Judge Matthews _**gave**_ them to you?" she asked her son.

William Jr. nodded heartily. "He said his wife had blue eyes too, and she loved blue things, like you Mommy," he added.

Julia turned and searched William's face for a clue as to whether he was equally astounded by the turn of events. Answering her unasked question, her husband said, "Judge Matthews was honorable, kind… and respectful…" He reached up and rubbed his brow, revealing his conflicted feelings as well, continuing, "He had been fair, with the situation as it unfolded before him, back during the trial."

She joined him, cozying closer as he wrapped his arm around her, "Yes," she agreed.

William could tell by her tone, however, as it was misty and far off, that her memories were replaying. He imagined for himself, hearing it all over again with a panic, the jury's verdict that awful day, and then Judge Matthews' speech before he had laid down his horrifying sentence – the powerful man's words played again in William's head, " _Dr. Ogden, despite your stellar reputation and diligent work for the Toronto Coroner's office, the nature of this crime is such that I have no recourse but to sentence you to be hanged by the neck until you are dead._ "

Unaware he was betraying his own remembering of that dreadful time, William sighed and tilted his head closer to hers. As his lips lightly kissed her hair…

Calling herself out of her thoughts, Julia said, "But it is hard to separate the man from the memories." She turned to see him wrinkle a corner of his mouth, the gesture making her smile. There had been trials and tribulations for them to go through to be together, of that there was no doubt. He took her into a hug, slow and tender. Then they all went inside.

Being that it was Mother's Day, Julia got to pick the book they would read to the children this evening, choosing the novel she was in the midst of reading, _Riddle of the Sands: A Record of Secret Service._ She claimed excitedly that the innovative book would be opening a whole new genre in the literary world… offering the thrills and excitement of espionage, and spies, and secrets and government plots.

William wondered if the book was fitting to read to the children, finding himself surprised that Julia was suggesting it. " _She's been trying to get me interested in this book for a week… that must explain it,_ " he reasoned.

She went on to declare, defending her odd choice to him, "It reminds me of Meyers, and Clegg, and space ships and such… not to mention that dreadful assassin, Graveson…" she leaned forward from the sofa, orienting her line of sight to her husband across the way in his reclining chair, "remember William, that horrid man my cousin Jonathan set out after you…"

Memories came flooding in, of when he and George had gone undercover as hobos riding the trains in order to infiltrate the meatpacking industry and find a murderer. He felt his skin crawl in reaction to the thoughts… less and less was he liking the idea of reading this book to their children. Speaking up, he said, interrupting her, "Julia, perhaps it is too frightening, and even too complicated for them," he worried with a raised brow.

"Oh," she said, bouncing in her seat for a minute, reflecting, realizing that she was quite enthusiastic about the idea. "You're probably right," she answered, her tone disappointed.

It was then that William Jr. – and then Katie, too – rallied. "We want to hear about the spies and the spaceships," he urged. The parents shared a look – William was considering it…

Julia described what she knew so far of the plot. A man named Carruthers had a low-level job with the British government. He was invited to go out on a friend's yacht – because the friend suspected the Germans had recently tried to kill him when he sailed too close to a particular island. The two men had seen many suspicious things happening on the island, but they were told it was merely a government operation looking for a shipwreck with a possible hidden treasure. They didn't believe that story, and were planning to sneak around to the guarded side of the island to find out what was really going on. Dangerously, towards that end, Carruthers had stowed away aboard a German cargo ship headed for the other side of the island. That was how the last chapter she had read ended, and she desperately wanted to know what happened next!

Her enthusiasm was contagious, and William agreed to the plan. Julia, saying she absolutely loved the sound of William's voice – and it was Mother's Day after all– asked William to read the next chapter, which he gladly did. By the time William read the part that gave Carruthers the evidence he needed to conclude that the Germans were preparing for a secret invasion of England from the island, the children had fallen asleep. He softly closed the book and stood to walk over and offer his wife a hand up from the sofa. With her in his arms he confided, "Quite intriguing after all, Mrs. Murdoch… at least for the adults," he chuckled as he dropped his eyes down onto the sleeping girls, then glanced over to note that even William Jr. had succumbed to slumber.

 _Truth be told, William Jr. was faking, in reality drifting in that pleasant world between sleep and wake, but he wanted his father to carry him up to bed. He wanted to be cared for, and loved, and to feel the gentle, strong steps of his daddy carrying him, safe and sound, high above the ground…_

) (

Rituals before sleep completed, Julia stood, wearing only her silk robe, staring down at the mess of what was their bed as it had been left after the fun and roughhousing antics from the morning. She sensed him behind her, so her tone was intimate and low, "It looks like a hurricane hit it." Almost gasping, for his voice indicated he was even closer than she had expected, she felt every cell in her body shift its orientation backwards, reaching for him, longing for him.

So close his breath warmed over her ear, and he replied, "Often feels that way too…" as his hand slipped into the crack in her robe to entice and tease her flesh, and his firm body came to press against her backside, "when we're lucky."

 _Oh so delicious, his warm, velvety mouth, teeth… tongue on her neck._

Dizziness plummeting her, Julia turned within his grasp, pushed and writhed her supple curves into him, slipped her arms around his neck, tilted her head… exhaled, then inhaled, so tempting, his scent. _She would take his neck_.

It felt abrupt, for she had already imagined the heaven of feeling him in her mouth, when he pulled back.

"Oh no," he insisted, "No more lovebites doctor…" _In the recesses of William's mind, the discomfort of having Oscar Ducharme know the brownish mark just above his collar had been made by his wife during lovemaking twinged._

"William," she cautioned, her voice stressing her disappointment. _Oh, such a devilish look crept onto her face_.

 _He felt himself brace, leg muscles tight, legs wide, working to stabilize his stance._

Julia placed her finger over her lips, commanding his silence, his submission, as she reminded, "You know it is _never_ a good idea to try to give me an order."

 _That was it. His mind became soup_. He needed to remind himself to breathe.

Julia's seduction was fierce, climbing up on her husband's body, wrapping her arms and legs around him, killing him with the warm, moist sensation of her nakedness _on him_ as the silky robe spread wide, and every ounce of his blood gushed towards his groin, _now aware of only the thin fabric of his pajama bottoms between them, and the chance that the convenience flap of his pajamas could open, and then he would…_

She reveled in the thunder and roaring of his aroused breaths and his pounding heart. _He was hers. She would have her way with him._ Just before the tilt of her head, before the move to make her mark, another mark, on his neck once again, she pumped and wiggled her hips into him, with the rhythm she knew would floor him, drown him, sweep him away, rendering him helpless.

The first touch, so scrumptious, first her lips, then her tongue, then her te…

 _Whoosh_ , the world seemed to swirl and flip. They were falling, dropping forward, down. His knees on the bed, she held on for dear life. The softness of the mattress taking her back, then breathless, his body, tight and pressed above her, into her. Julia's brain resisted the whirlwind of it, leaned into the gust. " _Focus… take his neck_ …" her voice directed in her head. _It was right there_.

Foiled, her lips found his mouth instead… _but my God the man can kiss._

Julia's moan betrayed his power. He broke off the kiss. "I said, no biting," cockily he teased.

She giggled, igniting his heart. Her voice suddenly confident, threatening, she warned, "It will be very difficult to make love to me and _not risk_ exposing your neck to me, William."

Pushing his forehead into her jaw, blocking any means for her to turn the tide, it was now _he_ who giggled – evilly. And she realized _he would have his way with her_ … as her last cognizant thoughts spun in her head, for she felt the abyss, the luscious, exquisite abyss, open, as his hands rushed to untie the remaining scraps of the robe's sash and hurriedly push it aside exposing her flesh. His mouth, ravaging, hungry, was taking each and every inch of her flesh… devastating, the pause before his tongue slipped over her nipple, and then waves and waves of tortuous, knotty wrenches in her womb as his fingers kneaded her creamy, plump breasts… and then his teeth on her ribs, and his demanding hands holding her down, holding her in place, his mouth on her hip, her belly. Astounding, the turbulence inside of her, when he pushed at her thighs, widening them, baring her juiciness to his every command. It was _William_ who would be making _his mark on h_ er, sucking and seizing the supple flesh on the inside of her thigh, so close, so very, very close to the spot that would plunge her to the very depths.

Julia's fingers twisted the bedsheets into twirling tornadoes with the storm, grasping and begging and pleading for the fiery heat to come. _My God, finally his mouth on her… How could such a strong man be so soft?!_ Oh, so amazing…

"Don't stop, William," she begged, to be awarded by the earthshattering breach, lovely and ruinous, as his fingers pressed into her, touched her, slipped in deeper and deeper. "Please, William," her raspy voice weakening into mere whispers. The rhythm quickened, closer and closer he pushed her. _It was there. Oh yes, yes, right there._ And then the tilt, so slow, the promise, just before it hit, primal and wild, erupting and cascading with succulent, warm ecstasy, so delicious she could not withstand it… Her moan pierced the air, followed by roaring whimpers. It rolled again, then again, the ripple… and again. " _So nice. It's so nice_ ," Julia, almost audibly, told.

 _Please don't ever end,_ her mind wished with all its might. Julia thrust and stretched and reached, slurping up the last drop of the delirious meltiness. Then, she floated, the lustful, humid, heat bathing her, until eventually she stilled, certain the rapturousness had left her hair a mess, _not to mention the mini funnel-shaped twisters standing rigid within the sheet_. Becoming aware of her racing heart, fear momentarily worried that she would never recover from the fury of its beating. _Breathe_ , it will slow. _Breathe_ , it will land.

He stirred, crawled up to cover her, offering her the security of his body, lying it over hers, holding onto her, keeping her safe, while she was still so vulnerable to it all. His lips, fluttering kisses, cherishing her.

"Happy Mother's Day," he whispered intimately in her ear, and she knew perfection, for he laughed with her, and she loved him with all her heart, this brilliant, good, remarkable, man.

After a while, he rolled them over and she brought her head to rest upon his chest. Julia slid her thigh up over him, encountering his… readiness. She slipped her hand under his pajama bottoms and took him in hand, teasing, "And what, pray tell, is your plan about this, William… must we wait until Father's Day?"

"It will go away," his answer came, somewhat sheepishly, for he wanted to have given _her_ her final, _special_ gift.

Her fingers tightened and stroked, her caresses quickening around him, as she pressed her lush, pliant body into his chest and kissed and nibbled and giggled in his ear.

Having to clear his throat first, he joked, "It will be harder now, I admit."

Such a lush belly laugh exploded from her. "Yes, it will be _**harder**_ , William," she ribbed at him. Not long after, he flipped her over and breached her and ardently pounded into her, hard and strong, making sultry, steamy, untamed love to her, having lost any semblance of self-control with her torturous ministrations. The ferocious ride, so sweet, so euphoric, Julia forgot to take advantage of the situation, and William's neck remained lovebite-free, in the end.

) (

It was the sounds reverberating in the air around him that woke him, William's own agonized sobs. _At first grateful just to wake, for it not to be true… at least not to be true NOW, he worked to center himself, to determine where he was, when it was_. His body still jerked and bumped with a few remnant quakes of the pain. _He was in bed. Julia was sleeping next to him… Not sleeping. She's rolling over._

"William," her voice sleepy came…

 _To comfort him, to touch him, he was not alone – he was with her._ Immediately, the rapids of his heart slowed.

"Are you alright?" she asked in the dark, in the middle of the night.

Needing to feel more in control, he sat up, shifted backwards to lean against the bed's headboard. His wife joined him, but her drowsiness left her weak, and she leaned against him as well. He moaned with the soft warmth of her presence. Every cell in his body thanked God she was with him, and he kissed her face over and over, again and again.

She tasted it, felt it, the salty dampness of his cheeks, of his lips as they glanced hers. "Are you crying?" she asked tenderly, cupping his face in her hands. Her thumbs stroked, discovering his tears, brushing them aside. So gentle, her kiss.

He told her then, of his dream, of his mix of memories. It had been magnificent at first, feeling drawn into the warm, loving photograph he had given her for Mother's Day, now hanging downstairs on their living room wall. He felt it so clearly, being so happy with their two new daughters, walking, the five of them together, in the park. Then he remembered William Jr. wailing and then his tiny little body squirming to get away from him after he had disciplined him for stealing the flower, and his heart had sunk with the pain of it. But then, like falling into a swirling rabbit hole, he dropped back in time, and stood, trying to survive the tumult of her sharing with him, in the morgue, on that last, unbearable, day before she left for Buffalo, he tried to withstand her telling him she was leaving him because she was sterile, and she believed, truly believed, he would be better off without her. And it hurt so badly, so very, very badly, to lose her – and to lose his children too, for he knew then, as he knows now, that there would never be another woman for him – only Julia, and so, he had also lost his children… And he fought the collapse with everything he had…

Her voice in his ear, lured him out of the suffering, into the light. "Ironic, is it not, that we have just celebrated such a delightful Mother's Day together, you and I?" she asked, with a squeeze. She held him and rocked him and soothed him for a time, until he thanked her, and he kissed her, and he told her that nothing in the world meant more to him than her.

And she remembered he had said the same thing to her back then, and she remembered he had said he believed she felt the same way, and she had answered that she did, and she still did today, and she told him so, in the darkness, in the middle of the night.

) (

William returned to work Monday, exhausted and content after an invigorating Mother's Day. The day was relatively uneventful, save for a report that someone saw a man behaving suspiciously outside of the stationhouse. After much questioning, nothing of any significance was found.

Near the end of the day, William returned after questioning the postman about the odd report. The constable at the front desk had a note for him. There had been a phone call from an artisan's shop, _The Picturesque King & Queen_. William recognized it as the shop where he had hired the artist to color his gift for Julia – the newspaper photograph of the two of them and their children in the park. Sitting at his desk, he smiled. Although the constable's handwriting had been difficult to make out, he had finally deciphered it, and the note explained that the _Toronto Daily Star_ had agreed to let him keep the negative after all. He could come by before closing time to pick it up.

Reassured that such a treasure would be safe, now that he would have the negative, William considered that today would be a good day to leave early to go get it. " _Perhaps Julia…"_ his thought halted abruptly as he remembered that she would be taking the children with her to a suffragist meeting because there would be many other children there for them to play with. She expected to be home late. _He was on his own for tonight. Still, he would retrieve the negative, and then enjoy a rare night of freedom, lift some weights, and get a lot accomplished on Julia's anniversary gift too._

Detective Murdoch dotted the last _'i'_ and crossed the last _'t'_ on the last file, grabbed his hat, and headed out early. He stopped in to inform the Inspector, whom it turns out, was also planning to leave early. They walked out together, talk of the burdens of being _the father_ on Mother's Day uniting them. The Inspector waved a cab, the detective headed to the stables to retrieve his bicycle. _It was a great evening for a vigorous ride on his wheel, perhaps he would take the long way home…_

) (

With Chelsea asleep in her arms, and both Katie and William Jr. being cantankerous about walking because they, too, were overly tired, Julia was gratefully when they finally arrived in their foyer. "Tomorrow you'll have to tell Daddy about all of your adventures with your friends. It was quite a fun day, wasn't it?" she asked.

"His hat's there, Mommy!" William Jr. noticed, glancing at the homburg hanging on its peg on the wall.

"Can we tell him now?" Katie asked, rubbing her eyes.

"Sweetie, you are thoroughly exhausted," she giggled at the stereotypical battle that was about to begin.

"I don't want to go to bed yet," William Jr. started.

"Yes, I know," his mother answered calmly. Each of their jackets removed and hung, she reached up and pulled out her hatpin. "But it is past your bedtime, and bed is where you must go," she concluded, firmly.

As they headed up the stairs, it bothered her somehow, in a far-off sort of way. The house was quite dark. " _Odd_ ," she thought. Reaching the top of their stairs, her eyes instinctively turned towards their opened bedroom door. " _That would explain it_ ," she thought, " _if he went to bed early."_ Julia paused at the doorway and looked in. The light from the hallway shone into their bedroom with a quadrilateral beam of light framing their long shadows, hitting their bed. " _My God, he's naked!"_ her mind gasped with surprise at the sight of seeing William's shapely naked buttocks gleaming white.

Katie whispered, "Daddy's sleeping."

"Yes," her mother answered, softly closing the door and taking her daughters hand, leading her down the hall to ready for bed.

William Jr. wondered aloud, "Daddy didn't have on any clothes?"

 _It was troubling Julia as well_. "Yes, I saw that too," she replied.

As expected, all three children seemed to drop off the second their little heads hit the pillow. Concern having been festering in her mind, Julia hurried to their bedroom to check on William. _Perhaps he had had plans for a wildly romantic interlude and then fallen asleep waiting? But, even so, he would have been naked_ under the covers, _not on top of them…"_ she worked to make sense of it all.

The doctor in her knew instantly, terror gripping her, _things were not right!_ He was cold, too still, limp… _Thank God – NOT dead_. She couldn't rouse him! Julia turned on his lamp. He was unconscious, remained unconscious, as she called and shook and slapped him. She lifted his eyelid – pupils very dilated. Checked under his lip – gums white with lack of blood. _He's bleeding!_ Her brain screamed. Panicked, she checked him over for bullet wounds, knife wounds, any blood, anywhere. " _Nothing! There's nothing! It must be internal,"_ she reasoned _,_ searching his body for swelling, bruising _. "Still nothing!"_ her brain raced, her fear grew.

" _Drugged?"_ a solution bellowed… " _Yes! There's an injection mark here on his arm… But the circumference is much too wide, more like an I.V. than a needle?_ " Then the idea hit her, hard, " _They drained his blood!_

Her doctor voice reminded _,_ " _Hypovolemic shock, a medical emergency in which severe blood loss impedes the heart's ability to pump sufficient blood to the body. His organs aren't getting enough oxygen! My God, it could be fatal!"_ Julia unknowingly covered her own mouth trying to deny it. Tears welled in her eyes. _She couldn't give in to panic. She had to save him!_

" _Take a deep breath. You can do this,_ " she coached herself. _You can give him some of your blood. You are compatible. But from the look of him…_

She felt it, a pathway in her brain darted and jolted towards the unbearable thought that _he was going to die – that she would not have enough blood!_

 _It was a reasonable concern_ , she warned herself. _He has clearly lost more blood than you can transfuse into him without feinting. You need help!_ She nodded her head agreeing with herself, " _And there's not enough time to call anyone…"_

She heard her own voice as she looked out their bedroom door into the hallway light… " _He's only four_."

(((())))


	5. 5: In the Aftermath

Back to the Drawing Board_5_In the Aftermath

) (

The blaring light from the hallway blinded William Jr.'s sleepy eyes as he searched the source of his mother's voice, finding only her silhouette in front of him. He was trying so very hard to understand what she was saying. He picked out words here and there, like, " _Mommy needs you…"_ and, " _We have to hurry._ " He was certain of one thing, though, his heart was pounding wildly in his chest… and he was scared.

Soon standing and rubbing his eyes, his comfy lamp clicked on to reveal her steady blue eyes, he grasped her requests better.

"Run over to Claire-Marie's quarters – use the door downstairs, the one behind the downstairs bathroom. Knock, as loud, and as long, as you need to in order to wake her up. She's not answering the phone. Tell her to come. That it's an emergency," Julia explained what he was to do, calmly, firmly.

"O.K Mommy," he answered, his voice so young and sweet.

"Good boy," she urged, stepping out into the hall, clearing the way for him to go, "As fast as you can."

The four-year old took off down the stairs like a shot.

) (

By the time William Jr. returned with his nanny, Claire-Marie, the list of things Julia had accomplished was impressive. She had pulled William's pajama bottoms on over his naked body, allowing for at least a modicum of privacy, and raised his legs on a pillow, providing more of his limited blood supply to his brain and his heart. She had gathered all the medical supplies she would need for the transfusions, and called Isaac, and the Inspector – who was calling George. Isaac said he would alert the hospital, but the two doctors had agreed that such a transfusion as Julia was planning should be done as soon as possible, so getting William to the hospital would have to remain Plan B.

Catching a glimpse of them out of the corner of her eye, Julia turned and said, "Oh, thank you so much Claire-Marie," as she watched the young woman's face blanch… looking down at the detective on the bed. Immediately, Julia thought of her son.

She knelt down in front of the boy, her presence emanating a sense of awe and profound importance, seeming to make time float around them. William Jr. peered sideways, gaping at his father lying there lifeless and white as a ghost.

"Your Daddy is strong. And I know what to do to save him. I need your help, and I need you to be brave…" she said taking him warmly by the shoulders and turning him to face her directly. William Jr. lifted his huge brown eyes to meet his mother's, the resemblance of those big, brown eyes to William's gorgeous eyes reassuring Julia that her plan to use _**his son's blood**_ would be safe. "I'm going to help _you_ to give Daddy some of your blood, and I'll give him some of mine. Between the two of us, we can save him," she explained.

The youngster nodded his little four-year old head, willing but unsure what was about to happen.

As Julia put their young son up on the bed next to his father, sitting him up on a pillow to increase his elevation, creating the proper downward gradient needed to allow the boy's blood to flow through the tube into his father, she gave instructions to Claire-Marie. "William Jr. is going to go first, then me. After he's done, we'll need to raise his blood pressure back up with fluids, and some sugar. Could you please bring up some apple juice and cookies…"

"Yes, Dr. Ogden," Claire-Marie rushed to reply.

The doctor went on, leaning over to search her medical bag on the bed and collecting a needle and some other supplies, "Also, I'll need you here when I am giving William blood, in case I lose consciousness…" Julia glanced at the young woman. _By God, she was trying_. She made herself breathe. "You would need to clamp off the tube, here… then pull the needles out – keeping the needle parallel with the vein, and then put pressure on the injection sites until the blood clots." Julia waited for the woman to nod.

"Oh," Julia remembered just before Claire-Marie left, "Dr. Tash and Inspector Brackenreid and Constable Crabtree will be arriving at some point – I left the door open for them."

"Yes doctor," came the quick response, and then off the woman went.

Before she spoke, Julia fixed her eyes to those of her son. "Are you ready little one?" she asked, nodding to him with encouragement.

"Yes, Mommy," he answered.

In her mind, she calculated while she pulled the rubber strip tight around his small arm, up above the vein. _William has lost more than 4 pints of blood, and I can give him almost that much and be revivable. But, it's William Jr. who makes this possible. His blood will have to make up the difference._ It nagged, the fact that there was an element of risk, for she had never tested their son's blood type. _But, he inherited his genes from us, and we're compatible_ … the doctor in her thought, " _And if I'm wrong, it's William who will die, not him, and…"_

She pushed the worries away. "Sweetie, lean your back against the headboard and don't look…" she advised. William Jr. gulped and did as she said. "Now, it will hurt a little, but you can take it, I promise. Pinch your leg here," she guided his free hand to his thigh, "and squeeze really, really hard when it starts, O.K?"

Her son took a deep breath and seemed to brace for the pain. He squeezed his thigh tight and nodded. Julia turned her focus to where the needle lined up with her son's vein, lowering the angle. " _Keep moving forward_ ," her own voice coached in her head.

"Owww," William Jr. gave into his need to cry out.

"Squeeze as hard as you can," Julia reminded him, "It's almost done."

It seemed to go so quickly. Julia stopped the blood-flow before William Jr. grew dizzy, although he did feel a bit woozy after the whole thing was done. Claire-Marie wasn't even back up with the apple juice and cookies yet. William Jr. looked down at his father – he was still pale and motionless.

"Here," his mother pulled his attention, "Push this down on your needle mark for me, hmm?" she asked for him to respond as she handed him a piece of cotton. He nodded, placing the soft, white cotton on the spot. "Your daddy is going to look like that for a little while longer. Don't worry, O.K?" she reassured. He nodded again.

"Now, scoot over to make room for me," she instructed. But, before Julia hooked herself up for the transfusion, she pulled out a syringe and withdrew a small amount of William's blood. Her brain chided at her, " _He needs every drop_ ," only to then take up the other side of the argument, " _And he may have been drugged with something… poisoned. It's best to take a sample now before his blood gets even more diluted."_ Her inner-battle pointless, for the deed was already done.

Knowing Claire-Marie would be back up soon, not to mention Isaac, she pierced herself with the needle and connected the tubing. She would need to watch, try to stop at just the right moment before she lost consciousness…

Her eyes bolted to the doorway, then a sigh of relief. Both Isaac and Claire-Marie walked into the room. Isaac spotted William Jr. instantly, the wheels in his head turning, a memory from the day the boy was born flashed through his brain, of his utter surprise when Constable Crabtree informed him on the phone that _**the detective**_ had performed Julia's Cesarean section, and was _himself_ giving her blood to help her recover. The tall, friendly man declared, "You Murdoch's, always solving your own medical emergencies, in such unconventional ways," having noticed the cotton pressed into the young boy's arm.

Julia returned his banter, explaining, "An eye for an eye, William saved our lives by performing the Cesarean section, now we can save his."

"And my goodness, what a brave little boy!" he exclaimed to William Jr. as Claire-Marie walked around to William Jr.'s side of the bed to give him some juice and cookies. "Did _you_ give your father some of your own blood?" the _other_ doctor asked the four-year old.

"Yes sir," William Jr. replied.

Julia marveled at it, _beginning to feel the slightest bit of dizziness as she did so_ , how proudly her son had responded. Isaac had stepped closer, and she knew he was evaluating William's condition. She forced herself to wait to ask… to give him a moment to make his observations. "Please," she invited, requested, "What do you think?" such a question from a fellow doctor signifying permission to examine the patient.

Isaac bent over William's body. "He seems to have some color," he said…

Drawing Julia's eyes to William's complexion, charging her heart with a jolt of hope. " _It's working!"_ her brain screamed, _or was it her soul…_ " _He looks better_. _He's going to be O.K._ " her inner voice foretold.

Isaac checked William's gums for pinkness. "Looks good," he substantiated. His eyes met Julia's with a reassuring nod.

Suddenly, Julia caught the flash in the distance, over at the door – _white… tiny… "nightgown," "blond…"_

 _Katie! That was Katie! She'll be absolutely terrified…_

Julia cried out, "Katie, sweetie! It's O.K." Her heart raced with fear for the little child – remembering her _nightmares about her dying mother –_ _**and the scary tubes**_ – _and what a sight this must be…_

"Claire-Marie! Go get her! She'll be panicked, seeing _**both**_ me and William and all these _**tubes**_ …"

Claire-Marie had comforted Katie after her nightmares plenty of times, thus the younger woman immediately grasped the significance of what had just happened. She was gone before Julia could finish her thought. She returned with the child almost immediately, Katie squealing and squirming in her arms, and Julia signaled for her to bring the inconsolable child over to her.

"Katie, Katie my sweet girl, everything's alright honey," she soothed her, taking her in her lap, hugging her close with the arm that was tube-free.

Katie turned to the side, taking her daddy's limp body into her sights, then crying out, "Daddy! Daddy!" and burying her face into her mother's chest.

William Jr. rushed to help, "It's O.K. Katie," he pleaded, still seated next to Julia on the bed, mouth half-full of a cookie.

Julia's voice registering with a tone that would comfort the world, she said, close to the little child's ear, "I know you're afraid the tubes will hurt your daddy, I know, I know. But these tubes are GOOD TUBES. I promise, little one." She kissed Katie's head.

In her head, Julia heard William's voice, playing along with the memory of them being on the train, back the first-time Katie had woken them up screaming from a nightmare. And the small, helpless child had asked him to promise he would always be there… And William had gallantly struggled so with making that promise to his little girl. His soft voice, Julia heard it again in her head, "Me or your Mommy will be here when you need us. I promise," he had told Katie then.

"See," Julia encouraged, "The tubes are helping me give your daddy blood."

Katie's crying quieted as she turned to look at the reddish-brown tubes.

William Jr. piped in, "I gave him blood too!" prompting Julia to worry that her son would rub it in.

"Me too, Mommy?" Katie predictably asked.

Having been distracted from her dizziness by William's improvement, and then Katie's horror at seeing both of her parents with exactly what had haunted her in her dreams – tubes, Julia had been remiss to notice she should have stopped the blood flowing from herself into William. She was reeling suddenly with the ripples of time and space that come with almost feinting, her brain quickly giving up on responding to Katie. She felt herself buckle forward, aware that her last thought before feinting would be regret that Katie would be seeing her collapse and it would be horrifying for her.

"Isaac," the weakness and worry in Julia's voice alerting him, and he knew instantly that he needed to clamp off the tube.

Expertly, instantly, he stopped Julia's flowing blood. And credit to Julia, she hung onto consciousness with all her might _… for Katie_. She sat back up, the world still spinning, and said aloud, "Mommy's alright. It's gonna be fine," as Isaac slipped the needle out of her vein.

William Jr., bright boy that he was, remembered the white cotton and reached over to his mother's medical bag to find a piece of cotton that she had there, waiting. There was one ready for his father there, too. He gave the cotton to his mother.

She was feeling better – she managed to thank him with a smile.

Isaac finished, removing the needle from William as well. Although William was not conscious yet, he was clearly out of the woods, Isaac reporting a strong pulse.

Julia asked Isaac to inspect the injection mark on William's other arm, with Dr. Tash agreeing it was a likely site where blood had been withdrawn. He reached up and rubbed his brow, a gesture reminding of William, and said, "An odd way to try to kill someone," he queried.

"Isaac," Julia asked, "Do you smell something… distinct on him?" She wondered as she pressed another piece of cotton, handed to her by William Jr., down onto the blood drop where the I.V. needle had just been removed from William's arm.

Isaac leaned close to the detective and smelled. _The odor, sweet and familiar… But what was it?_

As if lightning hit – igniting the world, **William moved** , the motion sounding before the thunder, shocking everyone present, startling them with joy and surprise.

William's arms flailed about as he tried to sit up, his legs so oddly high in the air, throwing him even more off-balance…

Both Isaac and Julia rushed to still his jerks, medical experience telling them that if he got up too quickly, he would feint again.

"Where's my hat?" were his first, somewhat accusatory, words.

 _Splitting off in its own direction, a part of Julia laughed out loud at the absurdity of his question, the neural pathway verging off into a memory of him asking the exact same thing after she had revived him on the sinking ship all those years ago. But, here… right here, next to the man she loved more than life itself, right here in their bed with her, the man who she had been so very, very afraid was going to die… and he was going to be fine… she felt her legs, her arms, her body, grow so heavy, leaded with exhaustion and resolved terror that it stung, and she tried as hard as she could to withstand the wave of relief that rolled through her._

 _Perhaps it was the loss of blood… as much as the relief?_ She dropped her head back against the headboard with a thud.

As if he'd been there all along, the Inspector's voice sounded from the door, "Always with the bloody hat, Murdoch!" Next to him, solace palpable on his face, stood George.

William fought gravity, mostly with his eyes, struggling to lift his head and see the man, _or was it men?_ And then being jerked by the sound of little Katie's voice on the opposite side of him, his eyes hesitating, finding Julia in bed with him, and his son too, and then even Katie…

"It's down on the peg, Daddy," her reasonable, tiny voice said.

So puzzled, his expression, as he gazed at his little girl. _He didn't even remember what she was answering – what was down on the peg?_

William, obviously wobbly, looked around the room, his eyes slow and wide, stalling on each face, oscillating, as if he had just stepped off of a spinning carousel, in an effort to stabilize and hold a gaze, before moving on to the next. Slurring his words, to all the world he would have appeared inebriated, he tilted over towards his wife, "Why are all these people here? Won't they see us… when we…" he attempted to sit up, intending to seduce her – b u t . . .

 _ **MY GOD, the PAIN in his head!**_

Isaac reached across William's chest from his side of the bed and gently pressed him down, settling him back onto the mattress. "Easy there now, detective," he advised.

William turned to study the man… the other doctor in his life. "Dr. Tash," he acknowledged, pausing, as his own time and place shifted, plummeting into memory… "I was so jealous of you," he slurred, "You called Jul… Jul… you called her a " _ **pistol**_ …"

The detective's words helping the doctor orient to the time to which Julia's husband, _and lover, and soul mate,_ referred. Isaac remembered it right away. He and the detective had been walking in the woods at the Rowing Club, searching for where there had been a rowdy initiation of a murder victim, young Richard Hartley.

"You said you knew her _**very**_ well… Couldn't, I coul, couldn't help myself…" William leaned towards Isaac seeking more intimacy, "I asked you if the two a' you, if you and Jul – Jullllia, had been involved," he stammered with the effort of pronouncing his words.

Isaac instinctively pulled back as the detective reached up and placed a hand on Isaac's shoulder, expecting, based on the unsteady man's drunken behavior, to encounter a rush of alcohol-infested, breath. The doctor raised an eyebrow of surprise, first because the detective's breath smelled normal, and then, with what this same man – the man who had once threatened to send him to the noose for performing abortions – with what this man was in the midst of confiding.

William, so intoxicated, wore his heart on his sleeve, telling Isaac, telling all of them, "You knew right then, tortured me anyway, despite the fact you knew, that I was madly… madly," William emphasized with a wobble, "in love with her – cause you knew, you said, said it was _odd_ I remm, membered the exact date I met her… So you knew. And then you, you said you two were young and foolish," he flipped his arm in the air, losing his balance with its inertia, "and full of p…passion – led me… you made me believe you… _**you**_ and the woman I loved till it hurt," William smacked his hand into his chest, pounding his heart, "had had a wild, whirlwind romance back at… at… at Bishop."

Isaac found the whole situation absurd, a man as buttoned-down as Detective William Murdoch publicly challenging him on such a personal thing – but still, the detective had gotten to the heart of the truth. He did lead the detective into thinking he and Julia had had an affair, when in reality they had never done any such thing. He had done so to protect Julia from the man, considering the detective's attentions to be undesirable to a woman of her class and, frankly, remarkableness.

William went on. "Now it's me and, and Jull… Julia who have the real passion…"

Brackenreid huffed, impatient with his main man's odd state. "Bloody hell Murdoch! What the devil is wrong with you?"

Tottering, William's eyes met the Inspector's. _The question asked – he would answer it_. "Sir!" he started, way too loudly, "I want to make love to my wife and there's all these…" William's arms gestured around the room, " _ **people**_ here!" He added, somewhat changing the subject, elaborating, "Twice a day, sir, morning and night, I tuck her underneath me and I… um… right here in this bed," he slapped his hand down on the mattress, emphasizing his point, "Or maybe somewhere else…" William's eyes perused the room, "Like that wall… or the shower! Oh yes, the showe…"

Julia wasn't the only one to gasp in disbelief.

Flabbergasted, George stepped forward. "Detective Murdoch, please sir…" his voice tapered off feeling everyone gaping at him, "That's quite inappropriate," he finished, nearly in a whisper.

Julia, too, was somewhat dumbfounded by William's behavior, yet she knew he was not in his right mind – _the evidence that he had been drugged was piling up_. She started to suggest this to George, to all of them, when…

William turned to his wife, telling her, "George knows how good it is, Jew – llll – ya. He heard the parrot… Remmm….member, the one in the hotel that imitated you, and we… we got… all those noise compaints, cause everybody thought it was… thought the bird was _**us**_ making…"

"Sir!" George's shocked voice rang out once more, "That's enough…" with a sheepishness flooding his face, for it was unlike him to reprimand his friend and superior. George turned to Julia, then a quick glance at Dr. Tash. "Doctors," he asked, "Do you think he's drunk?"

Isaac doubted, "He doesn't drink, does he?"

Quickly followed by Julia, who agreed it wasn't the effects of alcohol. She explained her theory about William being drugged, suggesting the needle mark on his other arm as the site of the injection… and then thinking they would have _also_ removed his blood. "I remember," she added, "when William had been drugged at the Alice in Wonderland Party, that he displayed similar outlandish, uncustomary, behavior. There are many compounds that could have such an effect…"

Bored with the medical talk, William again cut in. "Ju… Jewya, shouldn't the children be in bed?" he asked, now propped up on an elbow, considering specifically the presence of his son and daughter among the crowd.

Her voice, strong and reassuring, she answered, "William Jr. helped save you – he gave you some of his blood," cupping his cheek, so very grateful he was alive, and realizing he would likely not have grasped what had happened before he had come to. "And Katie… she got so scared, seeing both of us, you unconscious and motionless, _surrounded by TUBES, William_ – just like her mother in her nightmares…"

William lifted his other arm, then turned and focused his eyes down onto his perpetrator's needle mark, and then looked back to William Jr. on the other side of his wife. "You gave me your blood?" he asked, his eyes finding the boy's cotton still pressed into his arm.

William Jr. nodded.

William bowed to his son. "Thank you, little man," he said. Then he found Katie.

"Mommy said the tubes were good. They'd save you, Daddy," she explained.

"That they did, sweetie," he replied, suddenly seeming to be more of himself again.

Julia asked Claire-Marie to help the children to bed, leaving just the couple and their three guests in the bedroom. Dr. Tash urged Julia and William to drink some apple juice and eat a cookie.

Conversation turning to the events that had occurred to bring William into their bed, unconscious, naked, drained of blood and apparently drugged, Julia asked him, "William, when I mentioned tubes, when I was telling you about Katie getting scared seeing our transfusion in progress, you turned to look at the needle mark…" her eyes shifted to his opposite arm, "made by your attacker. Did you remember… being hooked up to tubes, when they took you?"

The Inspector asked, "What do you remember, Murdoch?"

 _Now, this was interesting_ , because not only did William _**not**_ remember anything about being attacked – no chloroform, not being hit on the head – _nothing_ … But he also didn't remember anything from the hours _**before**_ he must have been attacked. This remained the case even after both the Inspector and George had remembered that he had gotten a message from the constable at the front desk to pick something up. The Inspector even remembered Murdoch telling him it was the negative from the photograph he had given his wife for Mother's Day. Murdoch had told him about it when they walked out of the stationhouse, early, together. He remembered that Murdoch was going to go get his bicycle to ride over to the shop, that he was looking forward to having time alone this evening because the missus and the bairns were going to be out late. Disconcertingly, William could not remember any of this.

Julia pointed out another thing that was bothering her, wondering aloud that, "If they had wanted to kill him, why not just shoot him, or stab him, or strangle him. Why drain enough blood to kill him? And for that matter, why not drain more blood, to _ensure_ he would die?"

George risked going out on one of his limbs. "Perhaps Dr. Ogden, they were testing you. I mean they must have known you were a doctor. And that you would come home to find your husband in your bed." Checking around to see their reactions, satisfied they didn't think him completely daft, he added, "Maybe it's like what James Gillies used to do to the detective! It could be that the culprit is using Detective Murdoch to test you," he suggested bug-eyed, "You could have your very own nemesis!"

Aware that George was excited by his idea, Julia tried to refrain from belittling it – but she did have another thought. She lifted an eyebrow in consideration and looked to Dr. Tash. "Actually, I was thinking it might be something different all together. As I explained earlier, I think William may have been drugged – and I think they may have drained his blood so no one would be able to tell _what_ he was _drugged with_ ," she paused to get Dr. Tash's reaction.

Isaac nodded, saying, "It's possible, I guess."

Brackenreid grew impatient once more, "So they didn't care if the man died, so long as nobody found out what they drugged him with. Bugger! Then why drug him in the first place?"

Julia pressed on. "There is certainly more that we don't know than that we do. But, I did take a sample of William's blood," she said, searching her medical bag for the vial, "After William Jr.'s transfusion and before mine." Finding it, she held the dark red vial up in the air.

"Brilliant Julia," William declared, as if from the sidelines.

She responded, wanting to avoid getting his hopes up, "It will probably not have enough of the drug to be identified, William. If that's why they drained your blood, it probably worked."

Ever the detective, once William's mind was on the case, drained of blood and drugged or not, he would not be stopped. "What other evidence do we have?" he exclaimed. Unfortunately, he had jumped up rapidly with his excitement, the motion stealing his breath with pain, and such a profound nausea, he retched, working to repress the urge to vomit. Now, he stood next to the bed, stuck between falling back on it and running into the bathroom to throw-up.

George and Isaac were quickly at his side. "You'd best sit back down, detective," Isaac said as they guided him back onto the bed.

The wave of nausea eased, but the detective tilted his head back against the headboard and closed his eyes, hoping to still the room. _Maybe he would leave the gathering of the clues to the others for now._ William listened. It was so lovely, Julia's tender fingers slipping into his hair, scratching across his scalp. _She was with him. Everything would be alright._

George noted that there were some of the detective's items on his nightstand – his wallet and his pocket-watch. Experienced in evidence collection, he picked up each item with his handkerchief. "We can take these to the station, check for fingermarks," he suggested.

William, keeping his eyes closed, happy to bask in his wife's care, said, "I have some fingermark powder and a brush in a murder bag – downstairs in my workroom. You know my mar…"

"Of course, sir," George rushed to say, heading for the bedroom door, "I will be able to tell if any of the marks are not yours. I'll get it."

William's mind twisted and curled with the effort of focusing. " _Fingermarks_ …" the word danced about in his head. Then he replayed the Inspector saying, " _Last I saw you, you were headed for the stables to get your bicy…"_

Regretting it instantly, William bolted up. He wobbled, then plopped back down and closed his eyes. Pain in his voice, he said, "Does anybody know where my bike is? They might not have wanted to leave it wherever I was when they captured me. Maybe they brought it back?" Eyes still closed, he managed to wrinkle his face in doubt, offering, "Here… or maybe back at the stationhouse?"

Julia urged, "If they knew I would be out late, then they probably had been watching us. William keeps his bicycle under the front porch…"

"I'll check," answered the Inspector.

Then William remembered. "I had the distinct feeling I was being followed," he opened his eyes, rubbed his brow. Disappointed, for it was all so foggy, he said, "But I can't remember when."

Julia placed her hand on his shoulder, guiding him back to lean with her against the headboard. "Can you remember where?" she asked, casually, helping him stay calm.

Up again, he exclaimed, "I do! You're amazing Julia. I was shopping with the children, for your Mother's Day gifts. We went to Ducharme's shop… And then I sensed it, but I didn't see anyone. And then we went to the photography shop! Where I think I got the note to go… from the front desk…" William checked the room for the Inspector and George to verify what they had said about his getting a note from the constable at the front desk, finding neither man there. "If I was being followed, then they would know about the photograph!" he exclaimed, feeling less helpless.

Downstairs, George met the Inspector in the foyer while he was coming up from checking the wallet and watch for fingermarks. "Only the detective's, I'm afraid," he told.

"Well," the Inspector replied, "Go get the kit, Crabtree. Murdoch's bicycle is here, under the porch. Let's check it too."

They brought the bike inside to take advantage of the light. Finding a few fingermarks that George did not recognize, they used the detective's camera and took photos of the unfamiliar prints to compare to suspects later.

Back up in the bedroom, they informed the others of the results, planning to compare the photos of the fingermarks to suspects on file at the stationhouse tomorrow. Voila! It happened again – William thought of another potential break in the case! This time, however, the detective remained seated despite his excitement, sparing himself the wave of nausea. "The scrutiny cameras!" he declared. He had scrutiny cameras on the all the doors into the house. If anyone broke in, their image would have been captured in a series of pictures.

Concerned that developing the negatives would be a big task, Julia suggested they undertake checking that particular line of evidence tomorrow as well. With Dr. Tash's support, reluctantly, the three members of the Constabulary gave in to her reasoning.

As the men were preparing to leave, Julia wondered aloud about the last thing that was bothering her – it had actually been her first clue that something was terribly wrong…

"Why leave William naked?" she asked, "Except for his hat…" she gave him a mischievous glance, "his most treasured possession," she teased, "And, I guess, his wallet and pocket-watch. All his clothes – even his badge, and his underwear, and socks… his shoes – are all gone."

Inspector Brackenreid joined in on the ribbing about the detective and his obsession with his hat. "You may have no memory of it, Murdoch, but I bet you drove those bastar… those snakes nuts about your hat," he claimed, then hesitated to think, "Makes me think they didn't want to kill you though, that they left you with your wallet, and that pocket watch has sentimental value – it has an inscription, right…"

William and Julia both nodded. "From Liza," she told.

"Odd, that's all," Brackenreid concluded, "Like they didn't even want to hurt you. Bloody hell!" he stammered, "It's all …"

"Sirs," George piped in with a burst, "They wanted to make sure we didn't get any evidence… You know how the detective always says that the laws of physics dictate that anytime two objects make contact, trace materials are exchanged. The detective's suit must have had trace evidence on it!"

Julia's mind jumped to remembering the strange scent on him. She was sure Isaac had smelled it too. "William has a familiar odor… Isaac?" she asked.

"Yes," the other doctor answered, "sort of sweet."

"I'm sure his suit would have reeked with it," she added. "Perhaps I can collect some dust from your hair, William," she wondered, glancing back at him on their bed as she stood at the bedroom door with the others.

"Agreed," he answered. He would wait. He wasn't looking forward to moving anyway.

They headed downstairs, leaving the detective, at least for now, bedridden. Thanking the three men for their help, Julia opened the front door. She eyed William's homburg hanging on the peg. " _They put that hat back there_ ," she puzzled, thinking, " _Maybe William really did give them a hard time about keeping it._ " She would collect trace dust and hairs and fibers from it too, she planned.

Isaac lagged behind George and the Inspector to make sure Julia was alright. He gave her a hug, told her how amazing she really was. Knowing she would appreciate it, he also confided that she had found herself a quite remarkable man as well. Admitting, with a blush, "He grows on you."

"That he does," she smiled at her longtime friend.

Isaac considered aloud, "He was right you know. I _did_ know he was in love you from that first conversation I had with him back in those woods. "The man remembered the _exact date_ that you two first met. He even remembered our _exact_ words – even in _**this…**_ confused and befuddled state!"

"William has an astounding memory," she gave.

"And the being in love part?" her friend pushed.

She sighed, then caught his eye. "William has said he fell in love with me the first moment he met me," she said.

Isaac returned, "Which I guess was on March…" pausing, testing her.

"Twelfth, Isaac. I remember it too. It was March 12th," Julia admitted, with a blush of her own, bumping her shoulder into him playfully.

"Adorable," he exclaimed, giving her a quick kiss and then taking his leave. He hesitated on porch, turned back to ask, "Was he telling the truth… you and he _really do_ make love two times a day – and it's good… _for you_ …" Isaac wrinkled his face, for he thought it unlikely. Stressing his disbelief, he repeated, "Two times a day for _seven years_?"

"He was," she answered him plainly, "He was… quite truthful, if not more than a bit too risqué."

"Well, I'm happy for you. Well done," he said with a nod, "Well done, Julia Ogden. True to form, you still are quite a _pistol_ ," enjoying her giggle.

"Good night, Julia," he bid.

"Good night, Isaac," she returned, and then he descended down the steps and headed into the night.

) (

Back upstairs, Julia attempted to collect any possible evidence from his hair via static cling with a silk scarf which she had rubbed enthusiastically over his scalp, and by brushing his hair over the same scarf. She would tackle the homburg tomorrow. She was hoping William would feel well enough to deal with the scrutiny cameras himself tomorrow too. She and the Inspector had already planned that both of them would not go into work tomorrow until the afternoon, William needing time to recover, both from the loss of blood, and from the drug that he had likely been given, which she predicted, would leave him extremely hungover.

She showered with him, wanting to help him feel as comfortable as possible despite knowing there would be potential loss of trace evidence, and finally they tucked into bed together, late, sometime after two in the morning. Sleep hit William instantly, and, after struggling with her over-rushed adrenalin, Julia too succumbed.

) (

Having left William still sleeping up in their bed, Julia and the children sat around the kitchen table waiting to eat their late breakfast. Everyone had wanted to sleep later than usual. That is, everyone except for the youngest, Chelsea. When the little one-year old had woken up at the regular time, only to be ignored by her older sister, she had started to cry. Julia had gone to her and scooped her up, soothing, "Hey there pretty girl. Everybody else is still sleepy, baby. You wanna come sleep with Mommy and Daddy for a while?" then taking her to cuddle with her and William in their bed. The plan had worked perfectly, the child basking in her luckiness, had curled right up into her mommy's soft body and fallen right back to sleep.

Eloise had arrived at her usual time, but soon noticed the lack of activity upstairs. Even their nanny, Claire-Marie, appeared to be sleeping late. Wise and practical, she delayed preparation of the family's breakfast, being taken somewhat by surprise when Dr. Ogden did finally tiptoe into the kitchen with the children. The doctor had explained to her what had happened the night before, the detective being abducted and drugged, at least probably, and then drained of much of his blood, only to be delivered here – naked up in their bed – for the doctor to come home and discover, and amazingly with the help of William Jr., to save him in the nick of time.

The woman of the house explained their stealthy efforts, reminding the children, "We're trying to be very quiet for Daddy." She warned them once again that their father would have a _**big headache**_ when he did wakeup, and that they should speak and play quietly _after_ he had woken-up too.

Thus it was that later, the words, "The best laid plans…" were uttered by Eloise to the doctor…

For, when William staggered into the kitchen – at nearly ten AM and still in his pajamas, unshaven, and his hair projecting straight up into the air, a result of having had his head pressed into a pillow when his hair was still wet, resulting a picture much like that of the crest of a cockatoo – the children forgot their plan and excitedly greeted him.

Instantly, he reacted to the clamor, cringing and ducking, the look of pain registering loud and clear on his face.

"Sorry!" William Jr. whispered loudly, "Sorry Daddy."

Katie placed her finger to her lips and shushed Chelsea.

The little one, though, did not get the message, and screeched at the top of her lungs with glee, happy to see her father, and excited by all the hushing. Adding insult to injury, she pounded her little, chubby hands down onto the tray of her highchair, drumming and bouncing, having _oh so much_ fun.

William's eyes rushed to those of his wife, begging.

Julia immediately had the baby in her arms, working to distract her from partaking in more celebration.

Fortunately, they managed to be keep the decibels low for the rest of the meal, William finding he had little appetite for more than tea and a piece of toast. His unkempt appearance became the focus of the conversation, particularly the unruly state of his hair.

Particularly bothered by it, Katie insisted, in exaggerated whispers, "Fix it Daddy!"

After he demonstrated, with two or three attempts to lay it down flat on his head, the locks popping immediately back up the moment he released them, she became convinced that he was playing around.

"Stop it Daddy," she demanded, managing to keep her voice down despite her frustration.

Julia intervened. "We'll fix it after breakfast when Daddy gets cleaned up for work, honey. He'll have to use water and some pomade," she explained patiently. William's glance mixed gratitude with apology.

Quiet discussion between them gave William an opportunity to marvel at what Julia and his son had done to save him, and ponder the odd predicament he had been in. Julia asked again what he remembered, him coming up with nothing relevant – his last memory being of questioning the postman about whether the man had noticed anything out of the ordinary on his route near the stationhouse.

Later, recognizing that William felt absolutely awful, Julia helped him bring down the scrutiny cameras to collect any photos of the culprits delivering him to the house. None of the cameras had been triggered, leading William to speculate that the bad guys had used his key rather than breaking in. The discovery set off a whole new concern – _the bad guys had his keys_! _They could get into their house, and the stationhouse, and even the morgue!_

It was Eloise who had the idea – to check the back door for the keys.

"Of course," Julia exclaimed, momentarily forgetting to keep the volume down… "Sorry," she whispered after he had recoiled in pain. Quieter, she added, "They wouldn't want to take the chance of being seen carrying you in the front door. Perhaps they left the keys in the lock."

Low and behold, the keys were right there – left in the keyhole of the backdoor.

"Further proof, I guess, that they meant you no harm?" Julia wondered again at the strange actions the culprits had taken. "I mean, they left your hat, and your wallet, and even your pocket-watch… now your keys Why do that?" she asked.

"Why do any of it?" William whispered, even his own voice hurting his head. He checked the keys for fingermarks, again coming up blank.

"At least we think we got something from your bicycle," Julia encouraged.

 _Actually_ , William thought as he reviewed the evidence in his mind, _the clues in this case were quite skimpy._ Granted, there were someone else's fingermarks on his bicycle – but just about anybody could have handled his bike since the last time it had been cleaned. And they had the blood sample Julia had thought, _adeptly_ , to take before giving him her blood, but the sample was small, allowing for very few specific tests to be conducted. There was _minimal_ trace evidence from William's hair, which both Isaac and Julia agreed had a familiar, sweet smell to it… And also from his hat, mostly lint and dust. Then there was the fact that William sensed he had been being followed from Mr. Ducharme's shop, but he had seen no one that stood out… And the report of the odd man hanging around the stationhouse, but inquiries had led nowhere. _It hurt his head to think about it._

Replacing the scrutiny cameras, and considering the uniqueness of their house, _admiring it really,_ Julia thought about the fact that they still had not taught the children about the secret passageways. Bringing it up with William now, she worried that the children might be in danger from these same men who had just abducted him. William, too, agreed he was concerned.

They decided they would teach the children where the entrances, corridors, and ladders were located in the house, and how to use them, both to hide, and if need be, to escape. The parental unit's biggest concern was the children's young ages, quickly agreeing that Chelsea was certainly too young, and how, at only three and four, such exigent information might frighten Katie and William Jr. unnecessarily, and whether they would be able to keep such an important and intriguing secret. All these things, they agreed to tackle together, tonight.

When deciding whether or not to include Claire-Marie and Eloise, Julia referred to the same theory she had used in the past – it having had led to problems back at the time – back when she had withheld her alibi from William when she was being considered the main suspect in the murder of Darcy. Her words seemed to William to be an exact quote, arguing that, "The smaller the circle, the easier it is to conceal the lie." He was unsure, leaning towards including them, but conceded, thinking that he and Julia could later change their minds, and besides, it was better to have to later decide to _tell_ the two women, than to decide later to _**un**_ _-tell_ them.

Done and decided, they dressed for work and headed out.

) (

It was nearly one in the afternoon when they arrived. Feeling protective of him, thinking he should have taken another day before coming in, Julia decided to accompany William into the stationhouse rather than head directly to the morgue. William acquiesced to her care, his wife supporting him tenderly with a hand at his back, for he was still feeling feeble and vulnerable with the aftereffects of blood loss and being drugged. The detective's body language gave away his miserable state, his hand seemingly glued to his head to ease the pain – and to block the blinding light, his face pale with nausea, his shoulders slumped, and his motions slow and weak.

George looked up to catch sight of the two of them at the front desk, jumping up to go greet them. Upon his approach it sunk into his awareness, he himself feeling exhausted from the late night, that the detective would be exhibiting the signs of being hungover. Thus, George kept his voice down as he said hello. George gave them the bad news that he and Higgins' had to report – that the fingermarks on his bike did not match any of those of the suspects on file.

Alerted to the detective's arrival, the Inspector stood and looked through his office window at the three of them. He too noticed the detective's poorly state. An evil thought crossed his mind, however, stirred by a memory. The memory played, plain as day, in his mind.

 _ **He**_ _had been hungover from drinking and shooting with Annie Oakley while investigating a murder at Buffalo Bill's Western Extravaganza. Murdoch, knowing he was suffering the ill-effects of overdrinking had,_ he was sure of it _, Murdoch had intentionally been unduly loud_ , _slamming his door – both when coming in AND when going out – so that he wondered now, on hindsight, how the glass hadn't shattered, and then going on and on with an ear-piercing, long-winded reading of a bloody telegram. Admittedly, Murdoch had had to withstand a dressing down from Margaret, because_ _ **he**_ _had hidden his scotch in Murdoch's desk, the invasive woman barging in and inspecting the detective's desk once_ _ **he**_ _had told his bothersome wife that the only scotch in the whole stationhouse belonged to the detective. Margaret had doubted_ _ **him**_ _, holding up the nearly empty bottle after finding it in Murdoch's top desk drawer. Making matters appear even worse for Murdoch,_ _ **he**_ _had been forced to claim that it was Murdoch who tended to indulge heavily. But still…_

" _Payback!_ " Brackenreid's devilish side exclaimed.

Inspector Brackenried's thunderous voice barreled across the bullpen, "Murdoch! Doctor! A word!" then, his insides burst with maniacal glee as Murdoch recoiled from his booming, yet undeniably innocent, onslaught. A part of him even reveled in the evil-eye look the doctor shot his way.

The couple made their way to his office, Murdoch never removing his hand from his brow. The Inspector snickered to himself with his plan, as Dr. Ogden held her husband's arm, supporting the off-color detective as he sat on the couch. Just before the man's buttocks hit the cushion, the Inspector flung the door into a wild slam. **POW!** It hit remarkably hard, at first rocketing the detective into a convulsion, then collapsing the man into a ball of pain.

Dr. Ogden, also too loud for husband's pallid state, earning herself a dirty look, objected, "Inspector, really …"

Murdoch, eyes shielded once again, scratched out weakly, "Sir, must you be so loud?"

Wallowing in the obvious agony it caused, Brackenreid continued, his volume blaring. "Am I? I hadn't noticed!" he bellowed, opening and closing various drawers of his desk, each with a ' **whack** ,' looking for the note – that was right on his desk – the note with the information. Finding the slip of paper, displaying it with a flap, his tone shifted to air of sarcasm along with its blasting, and he said, "Of course, Murdoch. You obviously feel rotten. You look so green, and pasty, probably have a pounding headache. And YOU have ALWAYS BEEN SO CONSIDERATE when I feel this way…"

Murdoch's hopeless sigh bordered on a moan. There was a glance, and then a wince at the glaring light. The detective complained, "Julia thinks I was drugged… Your state, I must say, sir, has always been of your _own_ doing. It was YOU who over-imbibed…" The detective risked another glance, becoming momentarily stuck staring at the Inspector.

 **Every inch of the Englishman's face screamed** , " _ **Gotcha!**_ "

Murdoch's confusion, lasting longer than it normally would due to the man's hungover state, dawdled. "What's that look ...?" he started to question. Then…

Palpably, it dawned on the detective, the corners of his mouth dropping, drooping, down into a frown. _He was so CAUGHT!_

Suddenly, out of right-field, Julia punched William in the arm!

"Ouch!" William shrieked, mostly with shock, turning to her with his stare of utter disbelief and betrayal. Defensively, reaching up to rub the wound, he asked, "What was that for?"

A smug look covered her face. "For all the times you did it to me," she replied, with a satisfied bounce.

She focused her attention on the Inspector, subtle was their colluded nod.

Brackenreid drew in a breath and changed the subject, his tone fitting to the seriousness of the situation. He lifted the note again, and said, _thank God_ , at a normal volume, "I called all the prisons, even the asylum. No one who would hold a grudge against you has been released, or escaped. No red flags there, I'm afraid." He put the note down and found Murdoch's eyes. "I don't like the idea someone doing this to my main man…"

"Julia leaned forward, her voice warm, concerned, "It is quite worrisome," she agreed.

Audibly, William sighed with relief to be out of the hot seat, particularly with his wife. "I think it's best we start with the clues we have. Julia…" he paused wanting to shift to a more professional stance, "Doctor, you have blood to analyze…"

"I do," she answered. "I think I'll start with opioids. And there is the trace evidence to examine," she added.

"I'll take a look at that, then come over to meet with you for your input," William planned, "And I'll take George… Go to the photography shop, and I guess Ducharme's as well."

) … (

By the end of the day, when Julia came to collect him in his office, the team met and recounted the minimal information they had garnered. Julia had determined that the drug in William's blood was not an opioid, but it was an alkaloid… and was derived from the nightshade family. She wondered whether it might have been intended as a poison, but doubted it, for it didn't seem murder was the intention.

William and George had questioned the artist at the photography shop, who did remember a man coming in to ask about the picture Detective Murdoch was having made for his wife. He claimed he believed the man to be from the _Daily Star Newspaper_ , but he could not remember if the man had given his name. He did, however, say, that the paper did _**NOT**_ agree to let the detective have the negative, as the note the detective had been given by the constable at the front desk had said. Thus, it appeared the culprits had planned to lure William to the photography shop and take him there. The artist drew his own sketch of the man. Constables had found no one yet who recognized the man in the sketch.

Out of habit, Julia turned to check William's drawing board, surprised to find nothing written on it. Even more odd was his reaction when she asked about it, William blushing and seeming to want to avoid the conversation. It was the Inspector who pushed him to explain what was bothering him.

A big sigh first, William stood and walked to the board, preparing to flip it over to reveal the other side. "This side has nothing on it because I erased it… for the umpteenth time…" he said, avoiding eye-contact.

Everyone figured he had done so out of frustration, so little success thus far on the case…

Sheepishly, he added, "I've found I can't stop," his comment so mysterious and self-disclosing heads turned with intrigue. Then he flipped the board to the other side to reveal a harried series of complicated mathematical computations, full of symbols even Julia among them didn't recognize. Head down, shoulders low, he marched over to his desk and gathered up a pile of papers, each one a repetition of the same mathematical calculations. He sat, placing his hand to rub his brow, and searched for Julia's eyes among those in the room.

To her, those gorgeous brown eyes were desperate. Her inner-voice began to coach and calm, that fact that it was doing so, in and of itself, alerting her to her own concern. " _Don't let him see you are flustered. Breathe. Voice steady, low. Take your time."_

"William," he held her gaze, "Do you understand the numbers… I mean, do you know what they are computing?"

He hesitated, unsure of exactly what she meant.

"I mean, do the equations just come to your mind and you write them down, or do you actually calculate as you go?" she clarified.

He answered. "The first one…" William's jaw tightened, as if he were resisting something. He took a deep breath, looked back for the stability of her blue eyes, "It insists," he said, wrinkling his mouth, knowing it would sound crazy.

"And after that?" she asked with a reassuring nod.

"Then I calculate," he replied, thinking that wasn't wholly true, jumping to add, "except for, um…" William reached up and rubbed his brow fervently. He sighed again, "Except for the beginning values for each subsequent equation," he explained.

Impatience seizing him, the Inspector demanded, "So what do they bloody mean, Murdoch?"

William looked directly into his eyes, sincere as he could, he answered, "I don't know, sir."

"Well what do you think they could be for, then?" the Inspector pushed.

William's eyes traveled the twisting figures on the board. _There was a pattern to it, beautiful, both simple and complex. He wondered to himself if that was what was so addictive about it… It's sheer beauty. But, for the life of him, he couldn't guess what it was a pattern for. Briefly, the thought lifting him, so that all in the room took a breath, he thought it was similar in some ways to Fibonacci's rabbits, the way it blossomed predictably…_

William wrinkled his face in apology. "Sorry. I just don't know," he said, defeated.

George stepped towards the door. "It will probably come to when you least expect it, sir. When you're brushing your teeth, or taking out the garbage," he advised.

"You're probably right, George," William replied. He looked to his wife. "Shall we call it a night?" he asked her, suddenly feeling happy about being able to go home early, so very much looking forward to relaxing with the children and then falling into her arms.

"That would be delightful," she responded, standing as well.

The Inspector handed him his homburg. "Good night then, detective… doctor. Tomorrow's another day," he cheered. Together, they walked out to get a cab. Julia pointed out how much better he seemed to feel than when they had arrived. There was that, at least.

) (

"It's them!" William Jr.'s excited voice rushed up the stairs like a ship's bow wave before him. Right on his heels were Katie and Claire-Marie, the young nanny having done little Chelsea the favor of picking her up for the parental-arrival-earlier-than-usual adventure. Hugs, and kisses, and body lifting and bouncing, and big, big smiles ensued. Out of breath from it all, Julia asked Claire-Marie to stay with Chelsea downstairs for a few minutes while she and William took the older children upstairs.

Up on the top floor of their house, William and Julia taught the two youngsters about the hidden passageways. Each of their bedrooms had an entrance – in both cases from within the closet. They also showed William Jr. and Katie the entrance from within their bedroom. Next, the children learned about the ladders used to move between stories, and then the entrance to the secret tunnel in the basement – the entrance to that secret passageway being from William's workroom, and meeting up in the passageway with where the ladder ran down from the dining room and the top floor. The underground secret tunnel ran out to just inside the woods, coming up another ladder to emerge from what appeared to all the world to be an old water well.

But by far the biggest challenge, their parents stressed, would be deciding _when_ to use the hidden passageways, for they were ONLY for an emergency… never for play. And even harder, William Jr. and Katie had to never, ever tell anyone about them, for it risked the passageways becoming useless, because they would no longer be a secret. Neither Claire-Marie nor Eloise was to know about them, again, unless it was an absolute emergency, like if either William or Julia called on the phone and instructed them to use the hidden passageways, or if there was someone in the house who they thought meant them harm.

During the experience, as Julia watched William guide their two oldest children into that first secret passageway ahead of her, she was reminded of many years ago, when William had found a secret room on a case – _a hidden room where the murder had taken place_. She whispered ahead to him, in the narrow dimness, "It reminds me of the Scottish Play…"

 _And then he remembered it too, his mind immediately seeing how stunning Julia had looked in that gorgeous, velvet gown as she played a role in his trick designed to get the murderer (Mrs. Smart) to confess. Julia had pretended to be romantically involved with the victim, Mr. Smart – the Inspector had had his role. Associations branched off in his brain, first to the photo of herself that Julia had lent him for that same case, so he could procure suspects' fingermarks… And then to how he had_ kept _that photograph of her, forever… And then to how he took it with him when he went undercover as a hobo on the rails into the jungle with George… And finally, to how he had almost lost her then, for having hidden his meeting up with Ettie Weston in Winnipeg…_

Julia's voice called him out of his memory wanderings.

"And that case where you figured out that the killer hid a latex rubber mask in the secret passage of Beaton Manor, making you think he was trying to look like dead Timothy Beaton," she added.

"And then it was Timothy Beaton all along, him having been like one of George's crazy 'zombies', and managing to fake his death," William remembered. He halted, turned the family (minus Chelsea) around in the narrow passageway, and started them back to William Jr.'s closet, figuring they had all gotten the gist.

Up ahead of her, the light from the entrance into William Jr.'s closet luring, Julia's mind flashed a series of memories that made her skin crawl. _First, lovely enough, she remembered how adorable William had been in his office, showing her the molded latex rubber mask, putting it up to his own face and letting her paint his lips red. But then, she thought of the next time they encountered such a mask._ _ **Gillies had made one of her! Drugged her at the asylum, molded it to her face, wore it when he impersonated her, almost got her hung! William almost dying his sick TRAP!**_ _Julia ran the last few steps to the light –_ _ **her last image that of William opening the coffin lid, after she had been buried by Gilles alive.**_

Out in the brighter, more open bedroom, William noticed she was pale, her eyes troubled. He took her elbow, asked, "Are you alright?"

She flashed him a smile. _She needed to be a trooper. William Jr. and Katie were already confronting the possibilities of the dangerous circumstances that might lead them to need to use these secret passageways. If they saw that she was frightened, they would have an even harder time not being scared. No, she would buck up – be strong_. "I'm fine," she replied.

By the time they were all lined up in the passageway where the ladder began, she had recovered. She enriched the whole secret passageway undertaking, bringing up the thrill of the fact that their secret tunnels were like the _Riddles in the Sands_ book they had been reading… Reminding them of when the would-be spy, Carruthers, finds secret tunnels on the island, leading to his discovery that the German army was amassing there, preparing to attack England. It gave a feeling of power, having secret passageways and tunnels in your house. But, of course, the power came from the fact that they were secret, the parents stressed again.

) (

The Murdoch's finished dinner earlier than usual, giving them extra time before they would read their shared story before the children went to bed. The children wanted to play, and, with permission, bounded down to the playroom, their parents taking the opportunity to do some of their own reading. But, at some point Julia looked up from her book to find that she was sitting in the living room alone. Thinking that William might have decided to work out, she headed down to his workroom. _Her doctor mind practiced her lecture about how his body had just been through a terrible ordeal and how he needed to take it easy_.

Finding her way through the maze of toys, she stepped boldly towards his workroom, saying loudly on her approach, "William Murdoch, your doctor is advising that you give it a few days before working out… until your body is better recovered. You shouldn't over-exert yoursel…"

Now in his workroom, her eyes instantly touching his, she could see he was not working out. He was just standing there, in the middle of the room.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

 _Stuck, caught, unable to move or think_ , William froze, his eyes big and dark.

 _Sometimes it surprised her – like now – how much she loved this man_. Stiffening her lips, fighting cracking a smile, she teased, "William Henry Murdoch, I can read you like a book, so you might as well come clean. You're working on my Anniversary present, aren't you?" her eyebrow raised at him.

Wrinkling his face, _her_ thinking he was admitting that she was right; _him_ thinking he should have been, for their Anniversary was less than two weeks away, William's eyes shifted, landing in the corner of the room, on his blackboard of math.

"Oh… I see," Julia said, following his line of sight, and subsequently recognizing the severity of his obsession, remembering him claiming _he couldn't stop_ , just before revealing the same equations on his board at the stationhouse.

The two of them moved forward and stood together for a moment, just gazing at the mathematics on his board. " _He wasn't looking at this when I walked in,"_ her memory tugged her out of the moment _,_ and she returned her thoughts, instead, to his dazed look, caught standing in the center of the room…Julia turned and stepped to the location where he had been planted when she first came in.

Coming to stand oriented right next to her, he lifted his eyes to the spot on the wall that met the ceiling, just in the center of the wall, behind his desk. She followed his eyes to see it. He had been building, **creating a model of the math** , somehow. _It was stunning_. They were looking at the starting point. Here, there were three full-sized sheets of paper, stuck to the wall so that one was above the other – the top one labeled 'A,' the middle one 'B,' and the lowest one 'C.' Then, a few feet away in a clockwise direction, there was a half-sheet of paper with an 'A,' another gap the same few feet to a quarter-sized sheet – also an 'A,' the pattern continuing, always the same distance between the papers, always the subsequent paper being half the size of the one proceeding it. _Julia pictured him, meticulously cutting each paper in half, writing the letter on one of the pieces, and then cutting the other piece in half. She imagined his adept fingers holding the last tiny piece of paper for the scissor blades, its half so small it would be impossible to write the 'A' on the miniscule paper_. It seemed endless, infinite. Yet, the series of 'A's' ended… just after the first corner of the room.

That's when she caught sight of it, the second, half-sheet with a 'B' on it. It was nearly at the next corner. Gaging the distance between both 'B's,' she turned to look behind her, the pattern setting in, for the quarter-sheet with a 'B' on it, finding it just over the door. She wondered, _figuring it out for herself, so not asking_ , if the timing between the 'C's' was so large that its half-sized sheet did not fit within the cycle of one lap around the room.

His voice, from behind her, so warm, flooded with magic, he admired, "Its eloquence astounds me."

And she had to agree. "It's truly awe-inspiring," she whispered in reply.

They basked in their shared appreciation of the world's majesty, from their radial moment, their shared view of it all.

It lingered, before his touch, a tingling, a warning, a hope, as if their auras were mingling, growing, burning, glowing. He stepped closer, slipped his arms around her from behind.

"William," she mused, her eyes still dazzled by his paper-model display, "Do you think it could be stars… burning at different rates… big ones, small ones?"

"Mm," he answered, half considering her idea, the other half tumbling into desire. His kiss on her neck, his hands, pressing, traveling, feeling her luscious body through her dress, grateful she had removed her corset, his breath building in her ear.

William's voice low, raspy, penetrating at the same moment that he pulled her bottom closer to his pelvis, driving his want for her into her awareness, erupting her insides with its torque, he asked, "Doctor, which _activities,_ exactly, would be considered _OVER-exertion_?

Considering his question, her body wafting off on a lovely wave of desire, she remembered… imagined, having him on top of her, making wild love to her, and she heard it in her mind – his effort. Reaching her arm up, from in front of him, her fingers along his cheek, across his ear, back to slip her fingers into his hair, to scratch enticingly into his scalp, seductively bringing him closer, her voice so quickly revealing his effect on her, she answered, "I do recall there is some _grunting_ involved."

She turned around to face him, wrapped her arms around his neck, stepped in very, very close. _Oh, it plummeted her, feeling him so rigid against her body_. Signaling she was about to tease, William already raising an eyebrow to scold her for doing so, she said, "I must say, you seem to be having no problem with the blood-flow aspect of the effort, I see."

"No," he admitted plainly, proudly, as he reached behind her and pulled her by the waist locking her to his body, then leaning her back. Their eyes tangled, darkened, weakened… then closed, heads tilted, lips touched, pressed, moved, deepened, opened...

 _!_

 _Abrupt, halting_ , the children's interruption started quietly at first, before breaking out into a full-fledged row. First, Katie insisting with a yell, "I don't want it!" Then William Jr. arguing back that, "It makes it better!" Immediately alerted to the fight, the parents arrived just in time to see the shoving escalate to hitting, the two children apparently arguing over playing with William's model of the house – the dollhouse.

Their father's voice bellowed across the playroom, instantly stopping the battle in its tracks.

 _The mother in Julia knew it would come, waited for it, as if the pin were dropping, with a slow float, towards the floor, William's scary roar would make the baby start to cry._ Soon the Chelsea's wailing pierced all their ears, her mother scooping her up, the saving almost immediately lessening the tears.

William Jr. and Katie were both familiar with the routine. They would each get a chance to talk, Katie first because she was youngest. The interrogation revealed that William Jr. had been trying to use a cardboard box to make a secret passageway in, what was _his room,_ in the toy house, Katie not liking his addition because it made the room smaller.

" _Ingenious,"_ William thought, _his son's idea of installing the secret passageways in the model, and quite adaptive to do it with a thin box_. He wondered, for a moment, why he hadn't thought of it himself, realizing that he had back when he made the model, but of course, that if he had put in the passageways, then they would not have been a secret. That, however was just one of the problems he and Julia had to deal with right now.

He sighed, and drew everyone's attention. "Alright, your mother and I need to talk. Neither of you are permitted to play with the dollhouse for now," he ordered, waiting for their agreement.

Each of the siblings struggled to look him in the eye, replying, "O.K. Daddy."

Julia and William stepped back into his workroom. Julia keeping the baby in her arms, they huddled in the doorway where they could keep an eye on the two children while they spoke. It became rapidly apparent that they, _well William really, for it was him who had brought the model home as a toy_ , had not been clear as to WHOSE toy it was to be. Even now, William remembered thinking BOTH, that he had meant to give it to Katie, AND that he expected that any of the children would be able to play with it.

After brief discussion, William was inclined to making it clear that the dollhouse was Katie's, but Julia believed it was important that William Jr. be allowed to play with it too, arguing that, of all the toys their children had, the dollhouse was far and above the best one, and further, she wanted William Jr. to be able to invent things – like those phenomenal passageways…

Prompting William to add that William Jr.'s making them at all was _exactly_ what the two children were told _not to do_ – revealing the secret.

Nodding her head, Julia agreed, "True…" She took a deep breath, organizing things in her mind. "So, we agree the dollhouse is Katie's, _**and**_ that we want her to let William Jr. play with it…"

He nodded.

"But, if it's hers, it's hers… No?" Julia asked, "Why should she let him play with it?"

William answered, "Because he's her brother and she loves him, and he loves her… Katie needs to remember that _William Jr._ wanted us to adopt her… _before_ we had even met her…"

"They both need to remember that, I think," Julia agreed. She sighed. "But, to be clear, it's her toy and she can say 'No." Right?" she checked.

William frowned, but agreed, putting his arm around her, preparing to bring their decision to the children. Julia paused, asking him, "Is there anything we could give William Jr… that is on par with the toy house… Something he could build and invent with?"

Encountering a blank, William pushed himself – _he had made so many models over the years, but…_

Julia's voice bubbled with a memory, "Didn't George go on and on about some building blocks you had made – Remember? He held up the structure of blocks you had on your worktable and turned it upside down, and then shook it about, marveling at how the blocks _**don't letgo**_ … saying it over and over again, that _**they won't leggo**_ … no matter what you do, _**they won't leggo**_." _Then a quick flash hit, of her holding a beautiful baby boy – Roland, and the child taking a shine to her. It was her first inkling that it was possible she could be a good mother._

Looking to William, he had not yet found the distinct memory, so she added, "You were working on that bank robbery – with all the mothers and their babies, and the gorgeous child, Roland, orphaned and we almost adopted him…"

 _His face lit up, for he remembered, wondered, how he could forget, and then he was inundated with sadness, for they had not ended up with Roland in the end… So easy to forget the blocks amongst that._

"I do remember," he said, getting back to the matter at hand. "I drilled holes in the blocks and inserted dowels, developing an interlocking system by which the building blocks could attach quickly, and they wouldn't let go. I still have them – up in the attic."

They set the boundaries with William Jr. and Katie. It was heartening that when they were asking Katie to keep in mind that it would feel bad for William Jr. to not be allowed to play with the dollhouse, and that they knew she loved him and she didn't want him to feel bad, William Jr. said, "Member, Katie, I wanted to play with your pinecone and stick dolls when we met at the orphanage. And you let me play with you?"

Katie rushed to add, "You made the horse better! He got a tail – you put it, out of grass!"

Unable to control her motherly beaming, Julia declared, "You are quite the inventor, William Jr."

William cleared his throat. "Which brings us to the box, and what it is you were making in the dollhouse _with the box_ …"

Taking it from there, thinking to help her young son see his mistake on his own, figuring it would be a stronger lesson that way, Julia asked, "So, what do you two think would have happened if we had some of your friends over, like Ella or James? What do you think would have happened when they were playing with you and the dollhouse with the secret passageways…"

Both children turned their gazes to the toy model, and the replica of William Jr.'s room on its top floor. William Jr. got it, his answer starting out fast and strong, proud to have figured out his mother's point, but then tapered off, as he recognized he would have been breaking a rule. "They would've wanted… to see the real one," he offered.

William pushed, "And that would mean the secret passageways…" He waited, his eyebrows high inviting his son to finish the thought.

"They wouldn't be secret," he said with a pout, "And I'd of broke the rule."

"Good," his father responded quickly, "So you see, it's going to be hard to keep it a secret, but you have to try."

"O.K?" their mother asked.

"O.K Mommy," William Jr. answered.

Julia picked up the long, skinny box to remove the temptation. Her amazing son had started to draw little pictures on it to make it look like the wall. She wondered aloud, the shape of the box uncommon, "William Jr., where did you get such a strange box?"

The little boy's answer came instantly, "Daddy said I could have it."

Julia looked to her husband, whose face curled into its traditional " _ **caught**_ " wrinkles. His insides filled with butterflies as her face turned mischievous. "You _**are**_ working on my Anniversary present!" she proclaimed, giving him a hearty shove.

William's face wrinkled even more, unable to deny it. Then, his expression took on a slight frown, and he hurried to hide it, tightening up his lips and giving her a charming bow. _However, worry filled him, for, truth be told, the gift was turning out to be a disaster._ Tradition dictated that for a seventh anniversary, his gift to her should be made if copper and wool. He had been planning to make her a dozen long-stemmed, yellow roses out of those materials – the long, skinny box had held the copper rods… that were to be the stems. William had struggled terribly, ultimately failing, with crafting, and then welding on, the leaves and thorns, not to mention cutting, dying, and shaping the wool to make the yellow blooms. Unconsciously, a sigh escaped his chest. He had resolved to take the entire endeavor to an artisan, but time was running out.

"Good," she responded, tucking her arm in his. "Now," she changed the subject, "Was there something you wanted to show William Jr… in the attic?" she asked.

) (

Setting the romantic mood, while Julia brushed her hair, _he occasionally spied her out of the corner of his eye – treasuring the beautiful sight_ , William lit candles. Julia felt it, anticipation growing in her womb, wrenching and tugging at her, delightfully tight with twisty thoughts of being naughty. _Still, the disruptive thought, the memory, sprang into her mind's awareness, but then it sank away, to dangle just below the rippling surface. She had let her mind rush ahead, had imagined what would happen next, enjoying her body's lustful reaction as she pictured him on her, touching her, kissing her, pressing into her, thrusting, thrusting. She imagined it from above, his strong, bicycle-pumping muscles, sculpted and powerful, pounding away, pushing deeper and deeper into her, and then, so predictable the association it gave an inkling of warning allowing for her to escape from it, she had had the flash, the memory, of seeing his creamy white buttocks illuminated by the open door as she looked in on his nearly dying body from the hallway._

Once in bed, he began making his advances, removing his own pajama top before he rolled over to fiddle with golden strands of her hair, gaze into her blue eyes, so warm and big in the candlelight. First, feather-soft, his kiss on her cheek. His breath warm on her face, another kiss, moving towards her ear, delicious, the nibbles.

Yet, she resisted. She laid still, her body reacting, mounting with lust, but not engaging, not dancing with him, not returning the kiss. Conflicted, she tried to detach. His hand slipped up her hips, dipped in along her waist, rippled over her ribs… then traveled inward over her expanding breast, her tightening nipple, as if her flesh were reaching through the fabric of her nightgown for his caresses, finding the top button on her nightgown. A pinch, and air gushed over her skin. Down to take the next button, this one would submit her cleavage, his mind played the image, heaving bosoms, deeply round and creamy. " _Pop_ ," the plain, white fabric yielded, spreading apart once it was released from the tiny button's hold. She heard it in her ear, William's breathing surging, growing hungry. _Almost… almost, she stopped him._

His own brain succumbing to the intoxicating lustful swirl, _he wondered about her subtle absence._ The awkwardness overcoming the tipping point, he noticed. He ceased. She swallowed. He would ask.

William removed his face from her neck. His eyes, so gorgeous, touched hers.

"I'm sorry William," she collapsed into admitting it, before he had finished raising his brow to question her. And he felt his heart beam as her voice rose into that familiar squeak and her brow wrinkled with her stress and she hurried to explain, "It's just that there is so much to lose…"

And he knew then, that she was reacting to his almost dying.

And she went on, "I guess I'm trying to protect myself, maybe not hurt as much if I lose you… if I don't love you so much."

"Do that, and you've already lost me," his winsome answer came.

And she saw the logic in what he said, and tears welled in her eyes, now glistening in the dim, glowing light. With a gravity that stole her breath, his singular voice touched her core, calling…

"Love me, Julia. Love me," his whisper glanced her ear, and pierced her soul, and he nuzzled into her neck and kissed her and breathed on her tender skin.

And she melted and kissed his ear as her body yielded and she felt him sink in. "But I do," she promised. And she slipped down under him, and hunted his lips and they kissed, and kissed more, and kissed long and deep and hot. Momentarily released, "I do," she affirmed, her voice now raspy with want, "I do."

He playfully, asked, as she felt another button go, "You do, _what_?" And his hand covered her breast, his thumb slipping into the crevice between her jiggly orbs, and she heard him softly moan.

Breathless, she answered, "Love you, William Henry Murdoch, love you."

His lips fluttered over hers, then downward, to put his mouth on the roundness of her breast, another button gone, her womb screaming for him. Muffled, he played, "So, you've answered what and who. How about where, _where_ do you love me?"

Breathless, panting, she pushed out her retort, "Will I have to undergo one of Detective William Henry Murdoch's interrogations now? I hear he can be…"

He delighted in her pause, knowing it was his kisses, his licks, his nibbles on her supple flesh that caused it…

"… very..." Julia gasped as his mouth seized her taught nipple. She swallowed, drove onward, searching desperately for her words, so distracted by the knots in her womb, "... thorough."

A moan groaned out of her, another button gone, his face buried in her cleavage, his manly hands taking hold of her breasts, molding her creamy flesh, rippling it in squishy waves between his fingers.

 _Cascading and spinning, soaring up, plummeting down, she swore she loved this man with all her heart, all her soul, every spec of her flesh._

"Where?" he asked again.

Her brain screaming it, silently but for her rageful breathing and thumping heart, " _Everywhere! Everywhere!_ " as he released the last button of her nightgown, opening the cottony-white fabric to the sides, her ripeness his.

 _She tried to answer, pictures twirling and swirling in her head, flying away without words, "here in bed, in the shower, against so many, many walls, on the dining room table…"_

His hands ventured lower, now his skin on her skin. A cocky chuckle with his torturing, he continued his questioning, "When?"

" _When… When_ ," she played the word over and over in her mind, unable to connect the sounds to meaning. Then his hand slipping up her thigh, towards… towards…

Taking control, asserting herself, she reached down and stopped him. Pushed at his shoulders, requested he roll over. He did. Their eyes locked, each stunned by the beauty of the other.

Julia found the word again – ' _when_.'

"When?" she asked him, "When do I love you?"

He nodded, feeling the turn, yielding to his lover's power.

Her words flooded and gushed, "My God, William, when you cry, and when you moan, when you tease, when you love our children, or you're wearing a tux, or nothing," her eyebrow lifted at him, "or your suit or your pajamas. I guess it's just always William, always and forever. Now, and later, and tomorrow, and next year, till I die. When I see you smile, or when I see you work, when you laugh at my jokes…" a poke, "and when you don't. When you rub your brow and when you wrinkle a corner of your mouth. When I say something you think is brilliant. When I bring you your lunch. When I care for our children…"

There was a shift, and his eyebrow lifted, for he felt inside of him a whole new dimension of understanding opening up. His eyes kaleidoscopes, sparkling with curiosity, he wondered, "You are loving _**me**_ when you love our children?

"Does it not ignite your insides to see me loving them?" she responded, knowing she was right, for it happened to _her_ whenever she saw _him_ caring for them.

He felt its truth, deeply, like a tree growing roots down into the earth. The security of it awing him. "It does," he answered her. A smile wrinkled across his face when he added, "You _**are**_ brilliant," as his cocky smile recaptured his face.

And she swept him into a kiss. And he rolled her back over, passion erupting once more.

Up for air, panting, fiercely aroused, he sensed he would soon lose speech, so he pressed himself to ask, as he crawled back up to plunge it into her ear. "Now the hard question," he challenged, "Why?" he gave her time to think, sucked at her neck, low, secluded, their secret, this mark.

 _Answers… answers flew through her mind… "Because you are good, and smart, and handsome." But no, that wasn't it… plenty of other men in the world with those traits. No, it was something different than that, and the problem was, she really didn't know the answer, only that she did love him – unquestionably._

Words, out there, her words, "Because you light up my world William, matching me, like a rare chemical, only you fitting my shape, and I know you are irreplaceable, a one of a kind, special and magnificent man," she answered him. And her tears appeared again, simply in dealing with the magnitude of her emotions.

He kissed them away. Chuckling, so softly she felt his body shake more than heard the sound, but she prepared for some teasing, some test, that he would call up.

"And may I ask… my last question," he pressed her, triumphantly pushing his luck, " _How_ are you going to love me?"

He felt her smile growing, for she had imagined it, the sexual primalness of what flashed through her mind wrenching and tweaking her insides into surging contractions of desire for him.

"I'm going to kiss you," she said, and then did… "And squeeze you," and did… "And wiggle my body against you," and did… "Take you in my hand…" _And then she imagined it, the fantasy collapsing her with lustful need, him penetrating her, surging his hard, fierce body into hers as she gave way to him, soft and hugging, and melting around him, taking him in, drowning him with her heat and her love, deeper and deeper._

And she said what she imagined, "With a moan in your ear…"

And then it was his turn to flip and to spin out of control, the last words that formed being, "I want moaning in my ear." And he made love to his sumptuous wife, passionately, wildly – _the parrot would have added new vocalizations to his routine that night_ – right there on that very bed, the same one he had slapped so inappropriately to show the Inspector, the night before.

Still whirling together in the ceasing of the last ripples of euphoria, marveling at how they seemed to be out of the syncing with the world, somehow faster than everything else, waiting for the velocity of their love to slow, to match reality around them…

Julia's body underneath him, enclosed around him, she had held onto him with all her might, fought with such effort to pull him in, touch him with her core, and she would never let him go, and she began to tremor, and she fell into sobbing.

And he felt his heart breaking open and growing bigger and bigger inside his chest, and he flooded her with his love as he soothed her, and he held her, and he rocked her. His beautiful voice in her ear, brushing aside her hair, her tears, butterfly kisses and promises. Truth be told, they both were terrified, for there _**was**_ so much to lose when flying this high, and yet it was undeniable – here, is where they were – and they were here together – and they were madly in love, still, and would always be, until their last breaths.

Having soothed and comforted her, William blew out the candles, and then they snuggled under the covers waiting for sleep. So quickly, William's breathing deepened, and she knew he had succumbed. _He had to be exhausted_ , but she was so grateful for his love. Julia focused on the beating of his heart under her ear, and the cadenced waxing and waning of his firm chest with his breaths, and then she heard her own breath deepening as she quieted down.

 _Her crying afterwards tonight… It had been so hard_? she pondered at herself. In response to her question, a distinct memory rose up, offering an answer, along with another question. It was from back when William had been taken hostage with Prince Alfred. The time so far back that William hadn't even asked her to the Dinosaur Ball yet. She had no reason to react as she had, but still, she remembered it – she had been treating his scalded wrists with ice, the skin burned from being bound, and from being scorched by the flames, as the barn they had been held captive in had caught fire. The sudden feeling had nearly knocked her over, hitting her in a tumultuous wave, and she had turned away from him to try to hide it, _**her relief**_. The intensity of her emotion had prompted him to ask… if he had said something wrong, his eyes so big and beautiful with worry. Perhaps she knew then, that she loved him. She already knew, all the way back then, that she would suffer forever with the fear of losing him.

) (

Waking in the middle of the night, not even needing to check, Julia knew William wasn't there. She tossed on her robe and headed downstairs to find him. She had already pictured him in his workroom, staring at the board.

Stealthy on the stairs, she saw the light crossing the playroom from his workroom door. His focus so strong, she had the chance to watch him, study him, from the doorway… to admire him in his pajama bottoms, bare-chested, hunky and gorgeous. The shape of him stirred her, tight, and square, as she viewed him from behind. She noticed her marks on him, from only hours before, where she had dug her nails into his back, wanting him closer, deeper, harder than she remembered ever wanting him before. She took a deep breath, stepped in, her motion catching a glimpse from the corner of his eye and he turned, somehow knowing she had been there all along.

She spoke first, captured by his eyes, so her voice drifted misty, even though her intention was to tease. "I notice you have some warrior marks on your back," she said.

He smiled.

She came to his side. In unison, they turned their attention to the math problems on his drawing board.

William sighed, then shared, shaking his head, "I never did these calculations, Julia, or have even _seen_ these calculations." He reached up and rubbed his brow, then blew out a blast of frustrated air. "They must have shown them to me. But, WHY!? Why abduct someone to show them…" he tossed his hand in the air, exaggerating the preposterous notion of it, "… _**this**_!?"

Julia made a point, stating, "Not _someone_ , William… _**YOU**_ , not me, not George. Perhaps they knew _**you**_ had the skills to figure out the math? Or maybe they thought you were the one who... found it, or created it, or whatever you people do with these complicated math things…"

 _Click ..._

He tilted his head, and she knew he was onto something.

Inside William's brain, he grasped it - each answer is _**half**_ of the one before it, but at the exact same rate – thus the exact same _lifetime_.

 _Click …_

The word hit him - _**half-life**_.

 _Click …_

Then the scientist's name – Rutherford! The Canadian scientist winning the Nobel Prize!

 _Click…_

Flashes, images, the memory of the Inspector out in the bullpen pouring tea… Explaining what had happened to his board. Some complicated math stuff… Someone had needed his help…

 _CLICK …_

William turned to her, eyes wide with discovery. Spooky, the way he said it, **"Terrence... Meyers!"**

 _))) … (((_

 _And so it unfolded, in the afterMATH._


	6. 6: With BAITed Breath

Back to the Drawing Board_6_With BAITed Breath

) (

Surprised, at first, _but then not surprised_ , Julia gasped at his unearthing, "Oh…" quickly lowering her tone and adding, "Of course." Flickerings and snippets of memories of **the spy** , scattered through her brain like fireworks – _a microwave death-ray, a motorized dirigible disguised as an alien spaceship, a rocket aimed at New York City, poised to begin a war between Canada and the USA… undercover operations, and deadly poisons…and faked automatons… and those dreadful, dreadful cigars…_

"Are you sure?" she asked him, concern apparent in her voice, "Would he really try to have you killed?!" She tried to hide her fear, but she heard her own squeaking in her voice.

A frown on his face, William turned back to the complicated half-life formulas he had drawn on his workroom board for the millionth time… and rubbed his forehead. He sighed. William's jaw tightened, for he was fighting it, felt it bubbling-up from his gut. _He was angry_. The rational side of his brain argued, _there was no point in being angry… you don't have all the facts… you need a clear head…_

 _Julia too, worked to calm down, consciously slowing her breathing, lowering her tone, if for nothing else, for William._

Another sigh from him, this one prompting her to tuck her arm into his, and squeeze him close, standing with him at his side. She would wait for him to tell her what he was thinking.

He started, "Back when we got back from Nova Scotia, after adopting the girls…"

Attempting to ground him, to lighten the mood, she inserted, "And that lovely photograph was taken of us all, as a family, in the park… And now hangs on our wall."

 _She was amazing. Just a few words, being close to her… with her, and he felt better_. Now, his sigh was deeper, more settled. _Where to start?_

William's focus returned to the drawing board before them. His mind's eye showed him his blackboard, in his office at the stationhouse – he had obsessively written these same formulas all over that board too. _It really had all started there_ – back when he had noticed that his drawing board had been _erased_.

Julia, intrigued, so listening with bated breath, hung on his every word, though pretending to be composed, as William explained. On his first day back to work after that, the Inspector had told him Terrence Meyers had come by the stationhouse wanting help with some complicated math problems. William laughed telling her, remembering, "The Inspector described the formulas as being composed of a few long series of numbers and, " _fairylike-looking 'f' symbols_ …" At which point William reached forward to place his finger under one of the "function" symbols on the board in front of them.

 _Julia's math was good. She'd taken calculus in college, recognized the symbol, even knew it meant that whatever followed it was a function, but, truth be told…_ _ **and she'd rather not tell William,**_ _she really didn't remember enough to follow the math he had done, even just that tiny portion of it._

Stepping back away from the board, his arm huddling in with Julia's again, he added, "The Inspector figured that Meyers had gone into my office to write the whole thing out on my board for me to decipher for him… once I got back…" William turned to catch her eye, wrinkled his face in doubt and suggested, "He must have changed his mind, and erased it."

 _It bothered William, still now, that BOTH sides of his board had been erased_. He sighed again, annoyance creeping back in.

Logic at the forefront, William said, "The coincidence of Meyers coming by to show me complicated math problems, and then my being abducted… and…" he shrugged, "drugged, and almost killed – and the ONLY thing I can remember of the whole ordeal is these complicated half-life problems… It's just too big… to be chance."

She agreed. _Meyers was definitely involved, but how_?

William speculated that when Meyers had come to see him about the formulas, the spy had been followed by whomever abducted him. "Perhaps the abductor had had reason to believe I knew something about these formulas, and so abducted and questioned me to find out how much I knew," William wondered, chasing down an idea.

Abruptly his mind alerted him. _Rutherford wasn't safe!_

"Julia," his tone betrayed his worry, "the man who _did_ discover these formulas… Ernest Rutherford, over at McGill University in Quebec, he's probably in danger."

"Do you think Meyers knew that Rutherford had discovered them?" she asked.

Considering it, he came up short. "Only Meyers would know the answer to that," he responded.

He sounded disappointed. "What is it William?" she asked.

His frown deepened. "My experience tells me you can't get in touch with a spy. It seems the spy must come to you," he offered. "I'll try to contact Rutherford first thing tomorrow," he mentally added the task to his 'to do' list.

"Well," Julia offered conclusion, "It appears that, at best, we can assume that Meyers was careless, and led your captor to you, and at worst…"

He finished her sentence, "It was somehow intentional."

"All in all, a truly awful thing to do to you," she noted.

Unintentionally, her words had drawn them both into picturing the details of what William must have been through – Julia only being able to imagine it – but so too for William, for his memory had been erased of everything that happened from even _before_ he had ended up naked, drugged, and almost dead from lack of blood, on their bed, just last night.

Pushing the disturbing thoughts away, William thought about all the times he and Meyers had been in pinches, and how he knew he couldn't trust the man, but still, he sensed Terrence Meyers was good at heart. He liked him… and he thought Meyers liked him as well. They had even bonded on a more personal level after learning of their common connection through Ettie…

Julia broke his train of thought. "I have to admit, despite the man's arrogant and entitled ways, I have always sort of, well… liked him. And I always thought Meyers respected you, turned to you in his hours of need. I wouldn't ever have thought that he would do something to hurt you, William?"

"Nor I," he agreed.

 _It was her word, "_ _ **hurt**_ _," that did it – triggered the release of the flood of it all. He had been working so hard to deny it, to hold it at bay, but Julia's plain-as-day recognition of the fact that_ _ **he had been hurt**_ _cascaded into his heart, and he recognized… that he had been. His posture slumped, his eyes dropped to the ground, he spoke with a monotone voice… and her heart collapsed for him._

William told her of feeling paranoid all the time, constantly sensing he was being watched, over-reacting to every sound, every movement out of the corner of his eye, jumpy… And above all else it irked him, spooked him, made his skin crawl – that he could not remember _anything_ that had happened. "Even when I ended up in Bristol and had amnesia, and I couldn't even remember something as basic as my own name…" he smiled, easing the pain for a moment, "though I did remember yours," he reminded with a winsome bow, "I remembered what had happened _in Bristol_ after I had hit my head. And I did finally remember what had happened before I had been knocked out, confronting the assassin and being pushed over the bridge onto the train…"

Here, William's pause was long. He rubbed his brow, and seemed to Julia to be battling with the urge to cry. When he did begin, his voice was dry and weak as he said, gazing off into the distance, mesmerized by the devastation of it, "They could have done anything to me, Julia, and I wouldn't know it. It gives me the creeps. I mean, I have no real physical damage to suggest what things were done to me… but I was _naked_ after all… _you_ say, because _**I**_ don't even remember _that_." His brow wrinkled, panic invaded his chest, making it hard to breathe. "They could have put me in bed with some woman…" Suddenly he turned to her – worried, "And taken pictures, to use to blackmail me! They could threaten to show them to _you_ …" Then his mind threw up an image, flashing it at him, of himself, naked in a bed, being seduced and photographed… filling him as much with shock as with terror, "Or with a man! I'd lose my job at the Constabulary, maybe go to prison… join Chief Inspector Giles!"

 _ **Oh, she needed to snap him out of this, such thoughts were not helpful**_ _. Taking his beautiful face in her hands, finding those big, chocolate brown eyes of his, locking them to hers, holding him there, she breathed, deep and slow… and waited with him until he did the same. Having found him, gone to him in his anxious and helpless state, she would lead him back now… with her. She knew he would always go with her._

"William, whatever they did to you, you survived it," she reminded him, _so simple, but true._

"Thanks to you," he said.

"Well yes, in this case. You know, it was _you_ who told me this a long time ago, but it was true back then, and it's still true now… _together, we're stronger than anyone_ , William. And you know…" her big, blue eyes held to his – _familiar, safe, home_ , "we _are_ together, William."

The corner of his mouth curled up, admitting that, as usual, she was right, and she smiled in response to it, bathing him in her warmth for him. "Now, let me take my husband upstairs and give him a soothing, deep backrub, to ease his tensions and his worries…" she took him by the hand, "massage his sore and tense muscles to help him _let go_ of all the problems and the upsets," she headed them for the door, "tell him how everything's alright, hmm?" she asked, seeing only gratitude and relief in return.

Julia clicked out the lights and they began through the dark, crossing the playroom for the light glowing down from atop the basement steps. All of a sudden…

"Ouch!" his cry came from behind her, Julia feeling a tug on her arm, just before he let go to hold up the bottom up his foot and hop about in pain.

"What is it?!" her startled voice asked.

 _It took everything he had not to start his sentence with the word, '_ _ **damn**_ _._ '

"Blasted 'let-go' block!" he barked, "Those… They need to learn to clean up their toys!"

 _A part of Julia found the whole situation hilarious…_

"William, she scolded, "They are only three and four."

His jaw still gritted tight, he felt his own reprimand in the background agreeing with her, allowing him to pose the threat without harboring intended harm, he complained, "Well they'd best learn, if they want to be four and five."

"Oh really now," his wife teased, taking his arm and leading him forward towards the stairs, "says the big, bad wolf?"

"Maybe," he argued with a pout, _already knowing he was only 'crying wolf.'_

) (

The clatter of silverware and dishes tumbled up the stairs from the kitchen where Julia and their three children were eating breakfast, the happy noises accomplishing nothing more than prompting William to roll over in bed. His wife had managed –after being up comforting him in the middle of the night, massaging him back to sleep – to wake early and intercept their young children before they could wake him, allowing for William to sleep in again. She had already dressed, stealthily collecting her clothes and dressing in the hallway bathroom, and had phoned the Inspector getting permission for William to come in to work later that morning. Unfortunately, all her kind deeds had taken extra time, and now Julia was running late.

And then, the phone rang.

Instantly she knew, Eloise knew too, sharing a disappointed look with her… it would be a body. William would have to get up.

Fully dressed, she found herself standing alongside his side of the bed in the dim morning light, paused, admiring him, regretting having to wake him, remembering having found him, in not so different of a position, two nights ago, him now shirtless, his hunky back fully exposed to her, her husband seemingly unconscious to the world. _Her voice in the back of her mind pushed for her to hurry. He is Detective William Murdoch, she, Dr. Julia Ogden. They have jobs to do. But… he was so exhausted, and he had been through so much…_

Her eyes began to search his contours, landing on the scratches she had made in his flesh during their vigorous and overwhelming lovemaking last night… her memory settling on the lovely way he had held her while she cried so hard afterwards, linking her next thought to his scars, her tears having had been stirred by his, once again, almost dying. " _There's the one in his shoulder from the meat hook… and in his right deltoid muscle from being shot in Bristol."_ But there was **one** … Noticing it caught her – the scar from the long gash he had gotten in his forearm, when he fell from a broken fire escape as he had chased after a suspect. _It amazed her that she still felt such pain with the memory_ , even now, now when _she_ was his wife, knowing _she_ had his undying love for all of time, tears formed in her eyes, still, with the sting of the memory…

 _They had parted, but he had requested they still remain friends. News of his terrible accident had shocked her, so much so that she had been forced to realize that she would truly never love anyone other than him. She had gone to his bedside to care for him. They had exchanged such delightful banter, and she felt her heart bursting open with love for him again, as it had before, and she let herself feel it – hope. William had taken, so gallantly, her teasing about his aversion to the needle, and his being able to take the pain. And then Enid Jones had come in, and her world had fallen apart, and it had taken all she had not to fall down and die with the pain of it, and she had walked away, and it had hurt so, so badly… And there, right there on his forearm, was the scar, was the proof that it had really happened… He'd left her, and gone to another, because she had had an abortion, and he couldn't love her, couldn't marry her, so he'd found someone else, and she had been destined to spend her life_ _ **without him**_ _, and_ _ **My God, that had hurt so terribly.**_

" _You're_ _ **not**_ _without him now, Julia_ ," her own voice reassured her in her head. And with that she took a deep breath, and sat on the bed next to him, and called his name gently, touching his back softly, "William? William, my love?"

In his half-dreams, he had heard the phone ring, thus a part of him already knew. But he was _so sleepy_ , and his eyes fought against the light as he rolled over. _It was Julia. "She's so beautiful…"_

Alarm surged through him, and he sat up with a jolt. "Julia, you're dressed!" he declared.

Irresistible, his naked chest, Julia stroked him, settling him back into his pillow. "It's alright William. I called the Inspector, you had permission to go in late," she abated his worry. "Well," she hedged, "That was until the phone rang."

She giggled lightly, for he had frowned, and then he raised an eyebrow at her, scolding her for getting his hopes up first.

Happily, for she knew her next comment would add insult to injury, she advised him, "Oh, and you'll need your boots – the body's at the dump."

But, _she just couldn't help herself_ , and she folded down onto him and kissed his delicious morning stubble, and whispered in his ear how very, very much she loved him. And then, so very, very reluctantly, she made herself stand up.

Immediately he got out of bed too. Right to the bathroom, his body language demonstrating that he understood he was in a hurry, William relieved himself, then began quickly to brush his teeth.

Julia hovered in the doorway, telling him how she would go to the morgue right away. Miss James was at a class, so she would be the only one to prepare the carriage to go to the crime scene. She'd see him there. It was too far away for him to take his bicycle, he would need to take a cab. And not to forget she was lecturing at the University this afternoon, so she'd be a little late for dinner, but Eloise knew the routine…

William surprised her, stepped back from the sink, shaving cream brush in his hand, and turned to look at her, dropped his eyes down to her fully clothed and shod body. Eyes back up, for his expression to challenge her, he opened his arms, his gesture asking why she was still here…

Wrinkling her mouth, his customary gesture now also hers, she answered, "It appears I'm having trouble leaving," with an embarrassed giggle.

William put down the shaving brush and approached, taking her in his arms. A deep breath, soaking her in, he said, stepping back to catch her eye, "Perhaps, Mrs. Murdoch, that is because we have not _officially_ …" _for this he raised his eyebrow at her and continued,_ "said good morning… at least not in our traditional, and intimate, way."

"Perhaps…" she agreed, stepping closer to him, her breath in his ear, her curls tickling his cheek, "Perhaps that is it, Mr. Murdoch… Perhaps." Julia kissed his ear, then his jaw, then again, nearer to his lips…

Abruptly, she stepped back, smiled at him, an air of apology in her expression. She giggled, pushing back a blush. _He was,_ _ **most certainly**_ _, right about her reluctance to go_. Deciding her voice would betray her thoughts, and figuring she had already given them away anyway, she simply turned and left.

Behind her, William shook his head and donned a smile. _My God, he loved that woman._

) (

William stepped out of the cab, his boots perfectly clean, at least so far. The stench of the dump in the air, and the seagulls squawking and speckling the heavy damp air, he squinted towards the figures in the distance, spotting George amongst the other two men, and trying to make out the shadow of the body on the filthy ground. Uneven mounds and squishy garbage heaps blended in with any means of deciphering a body out of all the mess from here. Julia was NOT already here as she had so confidently predicted, tempting him to chuckle to himself _, reveling in her look right before she had turned to leave_ , and he stepped forward to start the day.

Before he had reached the other men, William had considered the timing of this man's murder and his own abduction. He felt anxious… and hopeful. Perhaps this would be a clue, and he would be able to learn what had happened to him. It lurked on the periphery, his sense of being watched.

The detective greeted both constables, and was introduced to the third man, Stephen Praylow, a vagrant who frequented the dump searching for anything he could eat or sell or trade. He had found the body this morning and reported it to the refuse workers who were dropping off their first load of garbage for the day. Having little more to tell them, they thanked him and let him get on his way. While they waited for Julia, her role as coroner crucial for the first encounter with the body, Detective Murdoch received Constable Crabtree's report.

Their initial search of the area had recovered no belongings related to the victim, or the perpetrator, or any other significant clues. George gestured down at their feet, demonstrating the folly of looking for footprints in this "muck." However, he had noted that the refuse just around the body was likely dumped yesterday – having had found a soiled invoice mixed in and reeking in the mess – so the body was most likely not here in the dump more than a day ago.

William knew that Julia's University class had buried pigs, and even some human bodies, under different conditions, and that she and her students had conducted research at the "body farm" over time, rendering Julia astoundingly adept at determining precise times of death. Yet, even without her expertise, William was confident that this man had been dead for a couple of days at most. _Despite his internal voice coaching him to remain impartial, he heard a stronger voice whispering at him that this man had been killed at the same time that he had been abducted…_

Crabtree's musings called him out of his inner turmoil. "From up there they can see everything, they have complete surveillance of the area. _They_ would have seen who dumped the body here, even where the killer came from and where he went afterwards. Actually sir, I'm thinking of writing a novel about them," he said, the constable's eyes looking up into the sky, his hand serving as a visor to block the glare from the sun.

William joined him, seeing that the "them" to which George referred was seagulls.

As he was known to do, George elaborated, "It would be from the perspective of one of the seagulls in the flock…"

"Sounds somewhat limited, George," William judged, "A bit dull, if you ask me."

The challenge only enthusing him more, George jumped at the opportunity, "Well that's precisely the point sir. Seagull society is mundane, centered around squabbles and such. I mean sir, look at them… just fighting and maneuvering for the measly scraps in a garbage dump." Unaccustomed to being allowed to go on, he fought the urge to pause, plowing ahead, "But my hero, Jonathan Livingtildun Seagull would be different – he would be seeking self-perfection, sir. And he would find others in the flock like himself." George pointed, "That bird right there… that could be him."

"No George," the detective disagreed, "With a name like that you'd expect a bird that soared, gracing the air with his flight. He wouldn't be a run-of-the-mill bird."

"He'd work to _perfect_ **flight**! Of course, sir!" George declared excitedly. Somehow finding an exasperating tangent, he then said, "I think birds are prehistoric and elegant – like tiny dinosaurs. I mean, think about it sir, they lay eggs, and they have scales, under their feathers, and claws!" He looked to the detective, his own face showing his disappointment. "You don't agree, sir?" he asked.

"Dinosaurs are extinct, George," came the detective's logical reply.

Gratefully, their eyes were drawn to the road. Julia's carriage had finally pulled up. William exhaled his relief, and rubbed his hands together in anticipation, then straightened his jacket. They watched as the doctor disembarked, along with one of her attendants, and they made their way across the garbage-strewn landscape.

"I'm sorry it took us so long," she began, noticing immediately her husband's scowl. She retorted with a huff, "It couldn't be helped, William…"

 _Her use of his given name, rather than "detective," revealed her personal annoyance with him…_

She went on, "You needn't get all high and mighty about it," she chastised him, and then defended, "The horse was lame… had an abscess. I had to lance it, with Ted's help. It'll need to be soaked in Epsom salts for a week or so." Realizing she was going on too long, she huffed again, concluding, "We had trouble finding another horse. The Inspector said we could use the Constabulary's."

William had been standing there, as tall as he could muster, doing all he could to keep any sort of reaction to her rebuke off of his face. _He would end up on the couch unless he played his cards right._ Behind his mask, he ran his brain, searching desperately for something to say that would reconnect them. His mind moved backwards, to before he had made the mistake of being annoyed at her tardiness… to when her carriage had pulled up… _Voila! C'est le cheval!_

"I recognize him," William said, lifting and flicking his chin in the horse's direction to turn Julia's attention back to the horse. "That's Sonny," he offered. _William had known Sonny for quite some time now, feeling a bond with the animal, for they had been through much together. The horse had been directly in front of him back when he had been in pursuit of Sally Pendrick, aka Sally Hubbard, her charging and then firing her microwave death-ray at them to achieve her escape. And it was that same little chestnut horse who had led the way through the blizzard, digging a path for the ambulance, after he had performed the Cesarean section on Julia to deliver their son._

William watched Julia out of the corner of his eye as he asked her, "Did you know Julia, that Sonny there helped save your life… and William Jr.'s too _?_

 _Internally, he released a sigh of relief as she softened, yearning to hear the story._

His eyes still aimed at the horse in the distance, he explained, "He carried George and Emily to our house in the blizzard when you went into labor with William Jr., and he led the way, digging a path in the nearly three feet of snow, for the ambulance, when it brought you to the hospital afterwards."

 _Responding to her memories of facing certain death, together with him, her being minutes away from hemorrhaging with the severe contractions of labor, up on their dining room table… And then glorying in the miracle of having, not only survived the impossible ordeal, but also of having_ _ **hers and William's son**_ _alive and well, it melted away any grudge she had held against William a mere moment earlier._ " _Apropos_ ," she thought, then voicing her insight, "Fitting then," she said, feeling William turn to look at her, taking a moment before she turned as well, and met his eyes, "Isn't it… his having the name, " _ **Sonny**_?"

He smiled and ducked his head, briefly blocking sight of his eyes behind the brim of his homburg, "Indeed," he agreed. A deep inhale, changing the subject, William opened an arm towards the body and turned on his heel, inviting, "Doctor."

Being particularly focused on whether or not he recognized the man, expecting that with his photographic memory he would, _**if this murder was connected to his abduction**_ , William watched with bated breath as the two constables rolled the body over. _**Alas, he did not**_. But he took an extra minute, studying the man's face, imagining him with a mustache, or a beard, or glasses. _His own sigh, and he heard it, he wondered if the others did too. He was disappointed._ At least if he had recognized the man, it would be a clue. _Still nothing!_ He felt his frustration growing in his gut.

His wife's soothing voice asked, "William, are you thinking this man's murder could be related to your abduction?"

He gave her his admitting it curl of a corner of his mouth. He forced himself to breathe, replying, "The timing is right."

Her response was simple, and supportive, "Yes."

Immediately, it was clear that the victim had most likely been killed by a bullet through the heart. Julia squatted down next to the body and examined it. "Rigor mortis has abated," the doctor reported, "so he died more than 36 hours ago. But not much more than that, I'd say. Thirty-six to forty-eight hours ago." She wondered aloud, "Detective, something about the wound is off," peaking his attention.

"Oh," he urged, squatting next to her.

The doctor reached under the man's shirt, feeling for the wound in the flesh. Having decided, she removed her hand. "Yes," she agreed with herself, "You see here, where the hole from the bullet entering the body is in the fabric…"

"It's too low!" he grasped what she had noticed.

"Yes, below the heart, and below the actual wound in his body," she specified.

They stood, both still focused down on the body at their feet. Julia glanced at George, to see if he had noticed, receiving a gentle nod. They had both worked with Detective William Murdoch long enough to predict what would happen next.

William's head tilted to the left, and his expression took on that zen-monk-like gaze of being both intensely focused, alert to every detail, and at the same time being, deeply, profoundly, relaxed. Julia knew, he was seeing it in his mind – all the possibilities of the world that could possibly produce the anomaly before him. _She couldn't help it, William Murdoch thrilled her to the bone._

The answer came. William's head leveled off, his brown eyes back with them in the here and now. "He had surrendered to his killer," the detective proclaimed, demonstrating his point by lifting his arms in the air. "The victim was shot while his hands were raised above his head. That position would lift the clothing up higher than it is now, now that his arms are down," he explained.

"Of course!" George exclaimed.

Julia took advantage of the opportunity to turn the tables on her husband, giving him an adoring shove and declaring, "I knew there was a reason I married you."

Their brief celebration dissipated quickly, for it was a horrifying realization to consider that the man dead on the ground before them had been killed face-to-face while in the process of giving up, and further, they still had much to do.

Julia racked her brain for any clues that might be associated with this dead body _AND_ with William after he had been abducted and returned, naked, to their bed. _She remembered the scent of her husband that night_. She captured William's eyes and said, "You had a distinct odor… after. I even asked Isaac about it. It was sweet…"she shook her head, "But neither of us could place which chemical compound it was from."

Giving it a go, she squatted down over the body once more and sniffed. William did the same next to her.

 _Nothing._

Julia offered, "Could be it's drowned out by the pungent smell of the surrounding garbage?" while her glance perused the area. Hoping to cheer him up, she added, "I'll check for needle marks when I perform the postmortem… And there was the trace evidence, a dusty substance in your hair and on your hat."

They checked the man's pockets, finding two business cards, likely providing the victim's identity – Mr. J. Wimmer of McCoy Associates, but with no address. From the victim's trousers pocket, William pulled out a wrapper, spreading it open to read the name. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as his words pierced the air, "Necco Wafers."

 _Instantly, his mind replayed finding a similar wrapper while undercover in Winnipeg with George, and he knew now as he did then, that the American spy had been around._

George said it first, "Alan Clegg," his tone misty, sending chills down Julia's spine as well.

 _She, too, had been having associations with the candy, remembering Miss James removing the brightly colored stomach contents of a victim in her morgue, back when William was working on the case with the rocket aimed at New York City. The gaudy pastel colors had been a result of these very same Necco Wafers._

Julia wondered about a connection, "Do you think he was working for Clegg?"

William added another possibility, "Or the victim found the wrapper, kept it as a clue… and Clegg was somewhere our victim was interested in?" He wrinkled a corner of his mouth, for there were too many possibilities to ensure how, if at all, Clegg was linked to the victim. Further, William just did _**not**_ like the feeling brewing in his gut with his thinking that Clegg might be involved with _HIS_ abduction.

After the body was loaded up, William and Julia stood together talking before heading back to the morgue and Stationhouse #4. She wanted to reassure him, promising, "I'll begin the postmortem right away."

"Good," he answered. Both corners of his mouth scrunched up, and he gave her a nod.

Sensing her husband was being a bit… _careful_ , Julia was finding herself regretting her sharp behavior with him earlier, and, making matters worse, she had done so in front of his men, and so, she apologized. "William, um… I want to say, I'm sorry I snapped at you," she saw his look open, and she heard her own distress in her voice as she explained, "I just, I… I had a harried and frustrating morning, and I spent the whole ride from the morgue picturing you waiting for me, in a rather unpleasant place, I must say…" His smile put her at ease, and she was grateful. "And… I felt bad enough, I guess, without you, well, rubbing it in."

 _In his head, William granted that he had frowned at her apology, and thus he was not blameless_. He leaned close to her, confiding, "It provided time for George to tell me all about his idea for a new novel, um, about…" his pause teased her mind – it was _George Crabtree_ he was speaking of after all – William's nod with his words endearing, "seagulls… and some daft notion that birds are actually current-day dinosaurs."

"Oh my," she squeezed his arm, "That does sound awful."

Quiet for a moment, neither one wanting to leave the other, Julia's thoughts returned to his describing of his struggles with the aftermath of being abducted, as they had stood together, much as they were right now, last night, in front of the half-life formulas on his board in the basement. She would not normally touch him with such a personal caress, knowing he did not like public affection to be displayed between them, but her heart ached for him, and so she cupped his cheek and held his big, brown eyes.

Stopping any escalation, he placed his hand over hers. She wrinkled her mouth at him, mixing apology with sadness, and dropped her hand back down to her side. _A thought crossed her mind, disconnected from all this mess, but important…_

"William," her voice changed the subject, "I know this is not the best time to ask, but… well, I… I'm afraid we don't have much time to decide." His wife took a deep breath, giving herself a moment to find her words, and nerve, to just push it out into the space between them. "I would like to have a party… for our Anniversary… at our house."

She watched the dread spread over him, and rushed to quell it. "I know you're not a fan of parties, William. Consider doing it for me," still, she worried, for he was beginning to shake his head. Working to encourage him, she declared, "I want to show you off, handsome husband – and the fabulous life we have together, our wonderful children, our house…"

Relieved, for his expression indicated he had ceased his outright opposition to the idea, Julia hurried to conclude, "Don't decide now. Think about it, hmm? We can discuss it more tonight," she requested, nodding with optimism.

William agreed with a sigh. She reminded him she had a lecture at the University at two o'clock, so she would not be home until sometime after six. Before that, they both knew he would come to the morgue to get a preliminary report on the postmortem… And they would possibly eat lunch together. With that, they parted.

) (

The Inspector made the call from his office, sitting at his desk, Murdoch on the couch and Crabtree standing near the door, listening in.

"It would be very helpful, sir, if we could get in touch with Mr. Meyers…"

"I see Chief Inspector. Well yes, it was a relief to learn that Ernest Rutherford had moved to England…

"Yes, I agree. Yes, most likely he's no longer in danger now that he's not in Canada…"

The voice on the other end of the phone went on longer, and the Inspector eyed Murdoch. "Do I think the situation warrants disturbing the Prime Minister, sir?" he asked into the phone, his eyes looking for his detective's opinion from across the room.

His eyes jerked away. "Murdoch was nearly killed, sir," Brackenreid's tone moved towards barking.

"No, of course this was not the first…"

Brackenreid sighed, accepting his subordinate position. "I will," he replied.

"Yes… Good day Chief Inspector," he answered, hanging up the phone. Immediately, he pushed back from the desk, venting his anger. "Bloody hell!" he made his frustration clear. "Bugger has no concept of what it's like…" Brackenreid's tirade seemed to stop there, not wanting to draw more attention to the disturbing experience his main man had had. He released an irritated sigh, "And too early for a bloody drink at that!" he added.

Disappointed, but pushing on, Detective Murdoch said, "Well, perhaps this man's murder is connected… And we'll find out about my abduction that way – and whether Meyers' actions with the half-life formulas and my drawing board play in," he wrinkled his face in doubt.

Brackenreid's face reddened once more, "Bollocks Murdoch! It's not _whether_ but HOW! That slimy spy is wrapped up in this somehow, and you know it just as much as I do." Crabtree nodded from the side.

The detective's rational mind tugged at him, _no point in dwelling on that that cannot be solved right now_. He needed to move forward with the case at hand. "George, let's have the constables show the victim's photograph… Um, I'll call Dr. Ogden to see if she has already taken it. We can develop the negative in my backroom. She will probably have the fingermarks too. See if the artist at the _Picturesque King & Queen_ photography shop – and I guess at Oscar Ducharme's shop, too – recognize the victim. Oh, and weren't there also reports of a man behaving strangely outside the stationhouse back when Meyers was here. The postman I interviewed… and any others. Show them the victim's photograph too," he began making the most with the clues they had.

Crabtree's hand on the doorknob, he paused and told them, "After all his work with Detective Watts on the missing women, I figured I'd put Jackson onto finding out anything he could about J. Wimmer of McCoy Associates…"

Murdoch interrupted, looking to the Inspector, "Our victim's possible identity, sir. He had two business cards with that information on him." The detective's face grew serious. "He also had a candy wrapper in his pocket. One we've come to associate with Alan Clegg…"

Crabtree inserted, "Necco Wafers. Remember sir? Clegg had bunches of the candy in his office, as the American Ambassador. That was how Miss James helped us catch him, linking him to the murdered Minister's stomach contents."

The Inspector stood and walked over to his cupboard where he housed his scotch. "Bloody hell, I think I'll have that drink," he stated, already pouring the liquid. The detective and Crabtree readied to leave, and he ordered across the room, "Murdoch…"

Both men turned back.

"Don't you go anywhere unaccompanied. That wife of yours would never let me hear the end of it," he insisted, his grumbly exterior failing in hiding his warm heart.

"Agreed, sir," the detective nodded.

Not fifteen minutes later, Jackson knocked at Murdoch's door. Standing in the doorway, both Murdoch and Crabtree listening, he told them what his search for J. Wimmer had yielded. "He's dead, sir. James Wimmer, of McCoy Associates… a real estate company, died four years ago. Um, it seems he died of consumption," the constable reported.

"Not atypical when dealing with spies, sir," Crabtree suggested, "That chap with the election plugging, err, it was Plantagenet McCarthy, his name as I recall, or the name he used anyway, but it was a false identity…"

"Yes, yes. That could be George," the detective replied.

"Implying our victim was a spy, sir?" Jackson asked.

All eyes on Detective Murdoch, he answered, his head tilting to the side showing his uncertainty, "Possibly. But even so, if he was, then for who?"

"And I must say, sir, I wouldn't expect the spies we have known to actually do… well, um, those… _things_ to you. Well, maybe Clegg, I guess," Crabtree offered, "But certainly not Meyers. I mean, we're on the same side, aren't we?" he wondered aloud.

) (

Grateful for the opportunity to see his wife, admitting to himself, as he walked over to the morgue – _unaccompanied_ – that he was still quite distressed about it all. Paranoia flooding him, he fought it, not giving into the urge to check behind himself, to peruse the area. Yet, his eyes stretched their limits in his eye-sockets in an effort to take in as much of the vicinity as possible without revealing his efforts.

"Detective Murdoch," Julia's voice called across the morgue theatre. She watched her husband's athletic approach, nimble down the steps.

"Doctor," he answered her, "What have you?"

Dr. Ogden had taken photos and fingermarks of the victim, and used her husband's method of collecting dust from the body's clothing and hair – by applying a sticky strip and then lifting away any trace evidence on top of the surfaces. _She had remembered, fondly, when performing the procedure, that William had told her of the trick during a case quite early on, with Buffalo Bill's show, the case prompting him to tell her about his previous experience as a ranch hand. The man never ceased to amaze her, even mounting up on a white steed and galloping off to rope a fleeing suspect._

Unfortunately, her initial findings offered little in the way of clues to use to find the victim's murderer. "He had a great deal of old injuries, William – more than you," she offered, unclear whether her tone was meant to tease him or to rub him. "Here," she said, giving him a sideways glance as she lowered the sheet, exposing the body. "Besides the obvious bullet and stab wounds, he also has evidence of quite a few broken bones," she added.

The detective's face wrinkled. " _Not much_ ," he thought.

Hearing Constable Jackson's voice in his head, " _James Wimmer, of McCoy Associates… a real estate company, died four years ago_ ," William told her, "The victim appears to have been using the identification of a man who has been dead for years. That, and the scars… A spy, perhaps?" he asked her opinion with his wrinkled face.

"Well, if you add in Terrence Meyers' being involved, it seems likely, hmm?" she tried to hearten, "That's something."

She checked, already certain, but still, making sure. They were alone. _She would flirt with him, kiss him. She had been fantasizing about making wild, passionate love with him,_ _ **here**_ _– in the morgue – all morning – desperately, desperately fantasizing._

! + ?!

His wife plastering her shapely body against his, holding him pinned against the wall next to her desk, her diplomas now all askew, they kissed, and kissed, and kissed. Breathing elevated, hearts rushing, temperatures rising, flesh melting, and writhing, and hungry, a single, delicious kiss broke off. The soft _clicking_ sound of the releasing of the vacuum that had accumulated between them, as they each sucked the other in, gently floated delightfully in the air around them. In his ear, her voice raspy with lust, Julia said, "Oh, I love that sound," just before taking his lips in another kiss.

 _William had been trying, and it seemed failing, to resist her seduction. They were in a public place… And_ _ **he would not**_ _. But… now… through their clothing… he could… feel… her supple… warm… body. And,_ oh my God _,_ _ **he wanted her**_ _._

His hands moved, against his will, downwards, soaking in her curves, from her waist, _so small_ , out over her hips, then the bottom of that _dastardly corset_ , around behind her, " **Mmm** ," he moaned as he took her round buttocks in his grasp.

Julia let go of his lips, nibbled on his square, masculine jaw. "And my God, William, I love _**that**_ sound even more," she whispered into his ear, her words humid and hot, then, with a such a roar afterwards, demanding and ravenous, her breath cascaded down… so straight down, to his groin.

 _Blast!_ The phone rang, startling them, causing, particularly William, to practically jump out of his skin. Having instantly separated, the romantic, lusty mood broken, Julia rolled her eyes at him to display her annoyance, and answered it.

"Dr. Julia Ogden, Toronto morgue…"

 _Off to her side, Detective William Murdoch, still plastered against her wall, worked to stop the spin. He pushed away, stood, managing not to wobble, adjusted his tie. "_ _ **Why did she always go after the tie?"**_ _He would take his chance – escape while he could._ He headed for the exit…

"Please hold on just a second," Dr. Julia Ogden said professionally into the phone, then covered the mouthpiece with her palm.

She called after him, threatening and pleased with herself, " **Almost,** William…"

No reply…

"The day will come, detective," she teased, leaning over to catch sight of him retreating.

Half-way to the door now, he called back, "Not in public, doctor."

She laughed. "Oh, but you nearly did it in the park, mister. Your day will come."

"That was under the influence of the green fairy, milady," he answered confidently.

"Hmm," she considered his point, "We'll see," she ended with a warning, and smiled, as she listened for the inevitable _'bang'_ of the heavy morgue door behind him.

) (

The board in Detective Murdoch's office was scantily speckled with evidence from the case. Constables were checking the victim's fingermarks against their records, but the marks had _NOT_ matched those they had found on William's bicycle on the night he had been kidnapped and returned to his home unconscious, left for dead. He, himself, along with Constable Dixon, had brought the photograph of the victim to the photography shop he had been lured to in order to be captured, and to Mr. Ducharme's shop as well, but neither lead offered recognition of the man. William sighed, perhaps there was no connection between this man and his own abduction.

He had, however, found an artisan, also working at the _Picturesque King & Queen_, to make his Anniversary copper and wool roses for Julia, and he had gotten finagled by Ducharme into buying an expensive vase for Julia – to use to, " _display her treasured unique roses."_ His mind drifted to his wife's request that they host an Anniversary party… Quickly, the sense of discomfort – even swirling butterflies – in his gut, he decided not to think about it now.

Instead, the detective refocused his attention, distributing it between the minimal information the Constabulary had on McCoy Associates, lying splayed out on his desk, and his blackboard. Eyes glancing to the board again, he rubbed his brow, and sighed to himself, then admitted it, Meyers' role in this whole thing had thoroughly gotten under his skin. _He imagined the spy copying out the half-life formulas onto that very board… and then erasing them._ _ **Why would he do that?**_ _And why erase the other side of his board as well?_

 _Thoughts seeped in… disturbing, intrusive thoughts, mere imaginings of things that_ _ **may have**_ _happened to him. He saw himself stripped naked in a cold, white, empty room. A bright light blinding him…_

Abruptly he stood up, his motion turning the page, pushing the aversive possibilities back down out of sight. He turned around to his window, tucked his hands into his pants-pockets, and looked at the day. Calming, a particular memory came to him – _standing here just like this, with thoughts of soon becoming a father…_

Then, Julia's voice from the door.

"William, I think I might have something more," she spread sunshine into his mood.

 _Their eyes met, that shared excitement was there, charging as it was wont to do, between them._

"The muttonchops on our victim – they were fake," she beamed.

"Oh?" he stayed with her, cocking an eyebrow.

"Yes. I've sent them to a colleague who deals in plastic surgery… for a more detailed analysis. He may be able to help us determine where they were purchased. He explained that artificial hairpieces of higher quality are made by craftsman, and there are only two such men who work here in Toronto. I thought you would want to know. It lends credence to your theory that he was a spy, does it not?" she asked already knowing the answer.

"Thank you Jul…" William looked over to his doorway just as the constable knocked.

"Constable Stephens, what have you?" he asked.

"Dr. Ogden," the young constable acknowledged politely, then turned back to his superior, "Detective Murdoch, sir," the fledgling constable snapped to attention and spoke too loudly, "It turns out that the photo of the victim was recognized, um, Detective Murdoch, sir… by the man who has a newsstand just at the end of the next block, um, sir. The vendor said the man bought a paper every day for the past month or so. Sir, he noticed that the man didn't come the past two days, sir," the young man reported.

It was difficult to discern if the young man's rushed presentation was due to his being nervous in his superior's presence, or simply pure excitement over having had found an important clue.

"Very good, constable," Detective Murdoch praised. Pushing, he asked, "Did the vendor notice anything strange about the man?"

"Well sir, Detective, sir… Err, he said he often paid with large bills, sir… Oh! And this was very odd, sir. The last three days or so he had asked if anyone had purchased a particular candy, sir…" _Stephens just knew the detective would ask which type of candy. Darnit, he couldn't remember. His heart raced._

"Which candy? Did he ever buy it himself… or just ask if someone else had?" William wondered.

The constable gave a blank stare.

"Constable?" the detective said, eyebrow in the process of lifting.

"Oh! I wrote it down, sir!" Stephens nearly screamed with relief, as he began banging about on various parts of his body in search of his notebook, in a pocket… somewhere.

"Good idea," the detective said, an air of sarcasm detectible. _William noticed Julia giving him that familiar scolding look. She was right, no point in badgering the young man. He was already anxious enough. "Patience,"_ he coached himself _._

Quickly, Constable Stephens had found the little book, and the entry.

"Let me guess," the detective said, "Necco Wafers."

The constable gaped, "How did you know that, detective?"

Constable Stephens noted that the detective shared a tense look with his wife… _It still amazed him that the detective was married to Dr. Ogden._ "Is it something bad, sir," he asked.

"A wrapper from that same candy was found in the victim's pocket. And there may be a connection to a particular person… who we've known to indulge in those candies in the past. But nothing is certain. You did well, constable," he bid.

"Thank you, sir," Stephens said, and then hesitated awkwardly.

 _Julia imagined he was about to salute. She stifled a giggle._

Saving the man any further stress, William made it clear, "That will be all, then? Do you have anything more?" he asked.

"No Detective Murdoch, sir. That's all," Stephens bowed – too deeply, "Thank you sir."

"Keep up the good work, constable," the detective said as he ushered young Stephens through the door, closing it behind the constable after he left.

Julia giggled, "He seems quite keen," earning herself William's dropped-chin frown, with those gorgeous eyes of his cautioning her through his long lashes. Of course, making her only laugh harder.

The Murdoch's lunched together. Just at the moment that Julia was about to broach the anxiety-producing Anniversary party topic with him, she saw William's eyes dart up and peer through his office windows across to the Inspector's office. His look was daunting, a mix of anger, and excitement, and dread. She turned to see for herself, hearing William next to her simultaneously with seeing the man...

"Terrence Meyers," William said.

) (

Soon all together in Inspector Brackenreid's office, the head spy in Canada got right to the point. "I hear you have a body in your morgue, doctor. I'll be taking it," he claimed smugly.

 _So many times they had been through this before. They would protest. They would be told they had no choice… "It was a matter of National Security." Invariably, they would lose._

It was Brackenreid who seized the bull by the horns. "Now listen here, Meyers. That body may be related to a case in which _my detective_ was kidnapped, and drugged, and drained of his blood, and left for dead – left _naked_ no less! A case in which we have reason to believe _**you**_ are also involved," he chided.

All eyes on Meyers, he said, "That was regretful. Sorry Murdoch." Then, _so annoying_ , he took a puff on his smelly cigar.

Ogden leapt to the attack. "Regretful?! Regretful. What is it you did, Meyers?" she demanded, her brow curled up into a threatening scowl.

 _Having been confronted, Terrence Meyers came clean._ _ **He had used Murdoch as BAIT, an unknowing decoy**_ _, to catch whichever enemy spy ring it was who was after the scientist, Ernest Rutherford. It was a matter of National Security –_ possibly even global security _. It was all part of his plan. Get a photograph of Rutherford's half-life formulas ON MURDOCH'S BOARD, and then leak these same photos out into the spy world… The spies would believe a man like Detective William Murdoch, with his reputation for inventions, would have been capable of such a discovery, taking the pressure off of Rutherford. Then keep watch over Murdoch, and let the enemy spies lead them right to their headquarters._

 _It was essential that Canada learned which country, which spy ring, was after Rutherford, after his discoveries. It was believed that such discoveries could be used towards multiple dangerous ends, perhaps producing them as weapons – the radiation involved could potentially kill cities full of people as it was known to cause radiation burns, and with further research creating bigger doses, or an enhanced formula, their enemies might even be able to use the radiation as an explosive. There was even speculation that it could be used as tracking device, because it sets off electrostatic voltmeters._

Meyers finished his admission saying, "The only thing that was surprising was that it took so long."

 _With that, oh my, did the spy catch Dr. Julia Ogden's ire!_

"You wretched… The man is a _**father**_ after all!" she yelled, her arms flapping about, her chin jutted defiantly high, "He has children… a wife! How could you? You… you…"

 _Patronizing_ , Mr. Meyers placated, "Now, Dr. Ogden, behaving like a mother bear whose little, baby, cubs have been threatened…"

Steam surged out of Ogden's ears, her face flushed crimson, she barreled, "William Murdoch is no, "CUB," and I, sir, am no "MOTHER BEAR! William was nearly killed…"

William stood from the couch and touched his wife's arm, "Julia," he tried to quiet her rage.

She leaned close to his ear, battled inside of herself with what she wanted to say – " _He's emasculating you William, and I will not have it!"_ – but realizing doing so would only emasculate her husband more, she huffed and retreated back to the Inspector's couch.

His hair up, William confronted, "It does seem, Meyers, that you put me at risk…"

"And bloody unfairly, too!" the Inspector barked. "Murdoch here has done nothing but help you. And you return the favor by throwing him to the wolves! Bollocks to you, Meyers!" he threw up his hands… looked to the scotch… resisted the urge.

Meyers inhaled long and slow on his cigar, _needing time to think, time to lower the temperature in the room._ Everyone stared at him with bated breath. When he spoke, his voice was low, strong, but his eyes did not connect. _On hindsight, that would suggest he was lying, but no one caught it at the time._

"The opportune word is " _almost_." Murdoch was _almost_ killed," Meyers started to explain. He glanced briefly at the detective, continuing, "Of course I took measures to protect you Murdoch. I put my best man on you. Unfortunately, it seems he found it necessary to kill the spy who abducted you…" Meyers frowned.

"The body in the morgue?" Brackenreid offered.

Meyers nodded. "My man was completely aware of Dr. Ogden's abilities…" the head spy's eyes turned to bow to the doctor, "He knew she would be able to revive you, Murdoch," he said looking to the detective. Turning back to the Inspector he assured, "And Murdoch is no longer in danger, as his attacker is dead."

Heading for the door, Meyers turned to face William and said, "Your country thanks you, Murdoch…" he took another puff on his cigar and added, "But, I will be needing that body."

All three of them inhaled, leaned forward, prepared to mount further protests…

Meyers threw his cigar smoking hand in the air to halt them… "Need I call the Prime Minister?" he intimidated…

Instantly deflating their efforts.

"Doctor," Meyers told, glancing at Julia, "You'll find the body is no longer in your morgue upon your return." His hand now on the doorknob, he finished, "The Canadian government will take it from here. I hope I am making myself clear. This case is closed."

And with that, Terrence Meyers was gone.

) (

His detective having been restless and irritated after Meyers had closed their case, the Inspector could no longer withstand the man's annoying questioning and complaining, and so, he sent Murdoch home early. The Murdoch children had taken full advantage of the opportunity to spend a little extra time with their father, coaxing him out into the backyard and then tempting him into exploring the woods with them, and roughhousing, and all in all just having an absolutely wonderful time.

Their mother would be home soon, her lecturing class at the University finishing up around five o'clock. While Eloise prepared their dinner, and Claire-Marie bathed and dressed their children, William fit in few moments to work out with his weights. He had finished up, and was, once again, considering clues in the case he was no longer to be working on, when he heard the front door. He dashed up the stairs from the basement to greet her.

Alone in foyer, except for Eloise occasionally clanking a pot in the kitchen, William's face blanched when his wife brought up their plans to discuss the Anniversary party. _He had forgotten all about it._

William was clearly reluctant about the notion. He struggled with explaining why, eventually disclosing that he did not want people judging them, judging him, judging their life, judging this house...

"This house?" Julia questioned. Enticingly, she stepped into him, pushed him backwards into the foyer wall. Pinned him there, re _minding of their close encounter in the morgue earlier_.

Her voice alluring, seductive, her hands undoing his top shirt button, she asked, "And whom is it you built this house for, William?"

His brain already yielding to the gravitational pull, he was dizzy. He swallowed, resisted a moan, for she had released another, lower, button, slid her hands deliciously across his chest, crossing over his nipples through the cottony fabric, already erect, reaching towards her, and she pressed her mashmallowy breasts into his chest, her breath on his chin, her eyes on his mouth. He answered, the word pushed out, "Us. I built it for us."

Her lips were so close to his, as he forcefully bolted his arms to his sides to resist her onslaught, and he tried to explain his embarrassment, "But other houses…"

Her lips grazed his, then kissed his jaw, "Mm-hmm," she said.

 _He could do this. He searched his brain frantically for the words_ , "They're…" _he had to breathe_ , "marble, and much more – fancy."

 _He felt it – it collapsed his resolve, her belly against his, his own…_ eagernes _s, hard and firm, undeniable, between them_.

Her voice up from his neck, "You could we have made this house, this floor, this wall…" _oh my God,_ _her sharp teeth under his ear, then such a soft, soft kiss, her flooding, warm breath,_ "marble, could you not?" she wondered.

With a shove at the word, breathless, he answered, "Yes." And his hands broke free, and they explored her malleable body without mercy.

"Why did you not?" she pressed, stepping back, now feeling the world swirling into lustful abandon, needing to slow the fall. Her distance enough to undo more of his buttons.

Swallowing, fighting, _his brain no more than soup_ , gasping, so winded, he replied, "I… wanted…"

"Mmm," Julia asked, or moaned, her hands under his shirt, _magnificent his skin, his contours, his muscles._

She kissed him again, deeper now, drowningly luscious. _Oh, how he fought to find the words under the deluge. "Why didn't he use marble?" Her question lingered unanswered_. " _Wood… you were going to say wood!_ " _he yelled at himself inside his head as the kiss engulfed him. The word, repeated in his spiraling brain, so meaningless – just sounds, beautiful, warm sounds, "Wood… Wood…"_

Her lips let him go, kissed down to his neck again, sending jolts of fire to his groin. He swallowed, thumped his head back into the wall, the soft wood taking the concussion in a such a gentle way – _so grateful it wasn't marble_. "I wanted wood," he answered.

Muffled in his neck, her devilish smile pressed into his skin. She pushed him, "Why?" and then continued her efforts at torture.

 _There was more oxygen now. Thought was within his grasp, yet, there was need to hurry, Julia's attentions were sliding downward._ "Wood is warmer… softer… more flexible," he responded.

Hands traveling his flesh, abs, down over his stomach, she pulled back and looked into her husband's beautiful eyes. "I love this house, William. It has dimensions like none other. There are parts of it, as there are with the man who built it, that no eyes, other than my own, will ever see… that make it…" she nodded to him, "make _him_ … magical, exclusive… _mine_ , William."

She glanced behind his head, "This wall…" she tapped it with her palm, then rubbed it tenderly, "You made love to me… my naked flesh pressed, and pounded, not into cold, rigid marble, but into warm, soft wood." Her blue eyes returned to meet him. She took a deep breath, wallowing in the memories, "The secret passageway in the dining room… We made love. No one will ever know." She ducked her chin, a slight blush, she started to explain, "And so it is with you… as it is with this house, William. All those secret places, so powerfully passionate. Though anyone who ever _really_ watched you would know it, if they watched you work on one of your inventions, or accompanied you through the intricate workings of a case, then they would know too… about your passion. They'd see it, too, if they studied this house."

Charmed, he yielded, "Milady, you have convinced me," he gave, "You will have your Anniversary party."

Before she kissed him, she showered him with her smile.

Unbeknownst to the couple, Eloise had started down the hall, wanting to know how much longer she should hold off for dinner. She had spied them necking, the romantic sight stopping her in her tracks. Unable to hear their words, yet mesmerized, she watched. _Their passion marveled her – after seven years of marriage… She wondered, considering her Joe…_ and her eyebrow lifted at herself. _There were certainly times_ , she remembered.

From behind them, Eloise cleared her throat, and stifled a giggle, as the couple bolted apart.

"Welcome home doctor," she started, a knowing tone to her air, "Shall I keep dinner waiting?"

William cleared his throat, couldn't look her in the eye, so his gaze shifted to the stairs. "Claire-Marie has probably finished bathing the children by now…" he took a breath, lowering his steam.

"Then, shall we say fifteen minutes?" she asked, leaning forward, challenging him to meet her eyes.

He did… and once again, Eloise could not help but notice how gorgeous the man was. He wrinkled a corner of his mouth, _adorable too_ , prompting her to smile. She glanced at the doctor. The two women shared a smile. They had known each other for a very, very long time these two, and Julia knew, with all her heart, that Eloise was always on her side – and had always been a fan of William's.

Julia let a tiny giggle escape and answered, "That would be lovely, Eloise. Thank you." She took William's hand and led him out to the front porch.

He hurried to redo his buttons. It was a lovely, spring evening. "Warm enough for us to spend the evening out on the porch, don't you think," she asked.

Imagining it, he replied, "We will need to put up a barrier at the steps for Chelsea."

Julia too, pictured the children playing here, on their big front porch. "She will get splinters ..." Julia worried, dropping her eyes down onto the wooden porch floor as she slid her shoe softly over the surface. She had a solution. She lifted her eyes to meet her husband's, suggesting, "But I suppose we could bring out her playpen?"

His face wrinkled in doubt, and he looked to the end of the porch where he imagined he would place the playpen. "She won't like it," he stalled … warned.

"Oh, I don't think she'll..." Julia glanced up at him, halting suddenly. "Did you just roll your eyes at me?" she asked, her emotions a mix of disbelief and anger.

 _Terror struck him, for he had._

 _She read it on his face, and it incensed her even more._

He rushed to apologize, "Julia, I'm sorr…"

"I can't believe you just rolled your eyes at me," her tendency to squeak when upset beginning to lilt in her voice, "It's patronizing and belittling," she went on, her indignation fueling her strength, keeping her voice firmer. Her eyes burned into him. She huffed, stepped back shaking her head. "Just because you didn't want to…"

She opened the front door, heading back into the foyer, him in pursuit. Her arms pumped back and forth, powering her, and she steamed into the air, almost ranting, "Too much _TROUBLE_ to move her playpen."

"Julia," William's voice pleaded from behind her, "Let's not have a fight over something so…"

Reversing immediately on her heel, and glaring stabbingly into his face, she fumed, "Don't you dare say ' _stupid_ ,' William!"

 _Panic again, from her degree of anger mostly, he thought to himself, "Stupid! I was_ _ **definitely not**_ _going to_ _ **say**_ _'stupid'_ ..."

"Insignificant," he uttered.

A deep breath, her mind raced. "The topic may be, perhaps… but _**not**_ what you did! You don't want to move the playpen?" she yelled, her voice in its customary squeak, her arms flailing about expressively, "then **man up** and say it!" She gritted her teeth and seared him with her look, "Did you think I wouldn't see you roll your eyes, William?" Julia turned to leave, headed for the stairs.

He stopped her, taking a hold of her arm, but her look, fire-breathing, and then honed in, down on _his_ hand… on _her_ arm. Wisely, he let go.

"You're right. I shouldn't have treated you so disrespectfully," he backpedaled rapidly, "but it wasn't about the playpen…" he blurted out in a rush.

William rubbed his brow. _He worried, knowing she would be… was… very…_ volatile _at this … point in her…_ _ **cycle**_ _._

"It was about the splinter," he said, deciding to barrel full-speed ahead, come what may. "You're overprotecting them. It's part of life, Julia. We will take the splinter out, her tears will dry up, and she will go on. And I just... Julia, I didn't want to fight…" his voice tapered off.

She tilted her head, squinted one eye at him suspiciously, "And _**why**_ would telling me that you thought children getting splinters was part of life start a fight?"

He hesitated. _**Prickly area**_ _, their difference on risk-taking and the children, even at the best of times..._

 _A jolt passed through her. He was thinking it was her time of the m..._

Such ferocity in her tone, she warned, "William Murdoch, you'd best not be thinking ..."

 _He would explain it rationally_ , "I'm attuned to patterns Julia. You know that..."

Furious, she glared, "And you figured, from these _**patterns,**_ that I would be unreasonable, and you _**didn't**_ want to fight, so you rolled your eyes… I thought you were an _**intelligent**_ man," she insulted sarcastically, leaving William Murdoch standing there, dumbfounded in her dust.

Upstairs, Julia ducked, unseen, into their bedroom. She was enraged, and it took every ounce of self-control she had _not_ to slam the bedroom door behind her. " _How dare he?_ _ **Attuned**_ _to patterns!_ _Arrogant bastard! No better than any other man!"_

 _But, it was there in the background, she used her anger now to shield herself from it, but she knew on some level… it would come, her awareness that he was right. She, too, noticed patterns, and she would be getting her monthly tomorrow, probably first thing in the morning._

) (

Out on the porch, William worked in a flash. He planned to be ready for _**both**_ ideas. Having already put Chelsea's playpen in the corner, he had started building a gate at the top of the steps. His tools and both sides of the gate were propped up and spread all about.

Behind him, as he kneeled, holding one side of the gate in place while he attached the hinge, he heard the front door. Julia was back out.

William stopped screwing in the bolt of the hinge on the gate, and stood to turn and catch her eye. She had changed her clothes, and now was leaning her back against the wall. _She appeared calmer,_ he thought. William leaned his buttocks down on the porch-fence railing to sit across from her.

He set out immediately to admit, again, to his belittling behavior, concluding that having had rolled his eyes at her, as he had done, made him feel ashamed.

She sighed and said, "Well, I guess we're both human, then, lacking in perfection…" _Her eyes held his firmly, thus she saw it, his core reached for her as she gave way._ She went on, "I'm ashamed too, of the fact that I do get more… _emotional_ when…" _she heard it in her voice, she knew he heard it too, the squeak as she started to cry, with the pressures of showing her shame_ "when it's getting to that time of the month."

Unable to hide his surprise, and his relief, William's jaw dropped open. "Julia…"

Just then, the front door swung opened and William Jr. stepped out to join them on the porch.

Wiping away a tear, Julia hurried to greet her little son. "Hi there, sweetie," she said, crouching down and taking him into her arms for a hug.

Their two daughters were right behind William Jr., and a celebration of their Mommy being home ensued.

Once the young children spotted the construction going on however, all interests turned to helping Daddy build the gate. Such a good, father, for it was obvious that their participation would slow him down, William enthusiastically coached them on some of the how-to's of gate building.

Wanting to catch up with the children's nanny, Julia signaled for Claire-Marie to follow her inside now that the children were busy with their father. Julia caught William's eye before she went into the house. The look they shared spoke volumes, each of them knowing that they were O.K. with the other.

"I wanted to thank you for doing such a wonderful job caring for the children, Claire-Marie," Julia started the conversation.

"Thank you, doctor," the young lady replied, "They are quite lovely – truly."

Getting down to her concerns, Julia asked, "How are Katie and William Jr. getting along?"

Acknowledging that there had been some problems, Claire-Marie answered, "Much better."

After Dr. Ogden had filled their nanny in on the fight the two children had had over the dollhouse last night, and on the talk she and the detective had had with them, Claire-Marie responded, "Well, it worked. Today they were thick as thieves."

Their mother smiled with the good news.

Claire-Marie elaborated, "It seems they wanted pinecones… Um, I've been meaning to ask, William Jr. has been asking to go into the woods – alone…"

Julia knew her son sometimes did this – he had done it to go get her flower for Mother's Day – but William Jr. also knew that he wasn't supposed to go into the woods alone. "I guess it's good that at least he asked…"

Interrupting, Claire-Marie added, "I went with them today, as I always have, bringing the little one along in my arms, but he really wants to venture there on his own." She waited, wanting to know what to do.

Dr. Ogden sighed, and looked deeply into Claire-Marie's eyes, seeking a kindred spirit there, believing Claire-Marie held a similar uneasiness about the dangers of such a thing for such a young boy. Leaning her buttocks down on the side table, the children's mother seemed to think it through aloud, "William would probably think it was alright. He would wax on about how he did it when he was William Jr.'s age…"

"But you do not?" Claire-Marie guessed.

The doctor pinched her lips together, almost huffed. "I do not," she answered directly.

"I see," said Claire-Marie.

"We'll have to talk about it," Julia replied. She was not looking forward to such a talk with William… especially not so soon after ' _the splinter'_ incident.

"So, I tell him 'no' for now?" the young nanny asked, receiving a grateful nod.

) (

Apologizing to Eloise for being later than the fifteen minutes they had planned for, Julia added to her apologies that her husband would be even later still, explaining, "It seems William has gotten himself into carpenter mode." _She would tease him about it later, but truly, she found it to be lovely that he was so passionate about such things as building a perfect gate at the top of their porch steps to keep their children safe and happy._

That evening after dinner, the children playing on the porch, the playpen returned to its place inside the living room, their parents read in the low glow of the setting sun and the porchlights.

Noticing that her husband was looking at automobile adds, Julia asked him, "William, do you want to buy a car?"

 _Her brain ran off with her thoughts, so that she almost missed his answer._ She already had his Anniversary gift taken care of, and for the most part, arranged. And cars aren't made of copper and wool anyway… " _But perhaps for his birthday…"_ she planned.

Turning her attention back to him, Julia saw that William had paused and curled up his face revealing his uncertainty. He was feeling conflicted. He even reached up and rubbed his brow.

"We can easily afford one," she tried to help.

Playfully, working to ease some of the tension he felt with the subject of their class differences and spending money, he replied in his best Shakespearean imitation, "Aye, and there's the rub."

Always one for fun, she went along with his game as she replied, "Oh yes, and thou speakith of your discomfort with being a wealthy man, a Toff if you would."

His sigh supported her hypothesis. He answered, his Shakespeare-imitating skills having reached their limit, "Alas, thou doest speakith the truth."

She considered talking with him about it, but instead gave him a warm smile and changed the subject, "You must be so tired, hmm?" she asked. _She reminded herself that it was only two nights ago that he had been abducted._ My goodness, how her heart burst with joy when he yielded with such ease to her offer, after she had patted her lap, inviting him to lie his head down and let her care for him. Not long afterwards, she could tell he had fallen asleep.

Off at the far end of the porch, the children had been playing with the toys that had been brought up from the basement for them. But, Katie had noticed her father had lie down on the porch bench, his head in her mother's lap. She walked over and asked, "Daddy's sleeping?"

"Mm-hmm," her mother answer, softly so as not to wake him.

Her daughters little voice wondered, "Cause you were petting him?"

"Mm-hmm," Julia answered with a small giggle at the child's phrasing. She gently scooched over to make a little room next to her for Katie, and the little three-year old crawled up next to her mother.

Thoughtfully, she asked, "You love Daddy?"

"Very, very much," came Julia's reply.

"And Daddy loves you?" Katie continued.

"Mm-hmm," her mother answered.

Such an important question, the little one asked, "And he loves me?"

Immediately her mother reassured, "Yup. A whole lot."

"And William Jr.?" she added to the list.

Julia nodded, her heart feeling the beginnings of an ache.

"And Chelsea?" one more included.

"Mm-hmm," Julia answered with a quick glance to the other end of the porch where their other two children played.

It was their little girl's next question that could have broken her heart…

"Does Daddy love William Jr. more than me cause he gave him his blood?" she asked the burning question that had been in the back of her mind.

Julia quickly slipped her arm around Katie's tiny shoulders. "No honey," she replied, "Mommies and Daddies don't love one child more than another, nor do they love their wives or husbands more either." _Oh, explaining this to such a young child, one who has lost her parents, and been through so much, would be terribly difficult._

Taking a deep breath, Julia told her daughter, "It's Like the Sun, Katie… When you love somebody, you love them with _**all your heart**_ , with everything you have."

Katie asked, doubt lingering, "So Daddy loves me with all his heart, and you, and William Jr…"

She finished the thought, "And Chelsea too."

Unable to ask it, Julia knew the little one was wondering about it. She voiced it for her, "How?" receiving a nod.

"Well," another deep breath form her mother, "Just like the Sun shines on _**all**_ the trees in the forest, Katie. When you love, you shine," her mother's big, blue eyes, so warm, touched hers, "It's just a matter of who turns your love on… inside of you, and in the case of Daddy, _**all**_ of us turn his love on. Understand?" she asked.

"Yes, Mommy," came the reply.

"Now," Julia leaned over closer to Katie, "I suggest you and I go make Daddy some hot chocolate."

"Oh yes, Mommy," the little girl jumped at the chance to do something so special.

"Good," Julia said, "Run and get me a pillow from the couch for Daddy, O.K."

) (

Katie and Julia worked at the stove stirring a pot of hot chocolate, Katie standing up tall on a chair alongside her mother. The gleeful sounds of roughhousing trickled in from the porch, and the game soon spilled into the kitchen. William Jr. with his little sister, Chelsea, holding his hand, had run in and taken a hiding spot behind the kitchen hutch near the corner.

As usual, William, playing the 'seeker' to the children's 'hiders,' he was advertising his approach loudly, adding to the children's sense of anticipation in being found. "I bet they're hiding in the kitchen," he warned ahead.

Julia stepped behind Katie, lifting her to the ground and whispered, "Go get some of that Daddy sunshine, sweetie," and Katie took off like a rocket to join in the fun.

) (

Finally, the children tucked in, bedtime rituals completed, William and Julia returned to the discussion of their earlier fight. Sitting at her vanity brushing out her hair, Julia explained that it had been very difficult to admit that she behaved in such a stereotypically _female_ way with respect to her menstrual cycle.

Winsome as ever, William had confided in her that he believed, even at, what may be, her most emotional moments, Julia Ogden was the wisest, most brilliant, human being he had ever known. With a sly grin on his face, for he was fighting a smile, he added that there was however, another clue she gave that indicated that her time of the month was coming…

"Oh," she threatened him with a raised eyebrow.

Considering hedging, he cleared his throat and pressed forward with his thought. "Well Julia," his chocolate brown eyes danced away evasively in the dim, romantic lamplight.

 _Oh, she saw it though… His beautiful blush…_

"William?" she wondered.

He swallowed, and his warm eyes returned…

 _Lord, they could melt her_. Her insides rippled so deliciously. " _Now, those are bedroom eyes_ ," she thought to herself, astounded at the yearning just a look from him could bring.

His voice was dry, but he forced himself to voice his observations, "You become… um, well, you become quite… aggressive, um, sexually."

She reacted, pulling her head back a bit, bumping her chin in the air. A blink or two. "Oh," she replied. Mischievous evil invaded her and she teased him with a threatening, "Do I?"

Such a thrill, her beautiful husband swallowed and his eyes grew big, and he watched her stand up and approach him, walk over to where he was sitting on their bed, and he swallowed again. And his head was already spinning out of control, and his groin was on fire, and she lifted up her nightgown, and he saw her magnificent long, gorgeous legs in the golden, warm light, and _my God, there was a flash from between her legs_ … And she swung a long leg over his lap, and she settled down on top of him, and he just about fell from the sky for he wanted her so badly…

And she asked, killing him with her lusty voice hot and moist in his ear… "Like this?"

And he knew he could no longer speak, so he nodded.

And she giggled. And she tilted back just enough, and reached down, her intention sharp as an arrow, she pushed open the convenience flap of his pajama bottoms, and she reached in…

And his roar of a moan escaped, for she took hold of him.

And her voice in his ear teased him, asking, for she knew he was incapable of answering her now, "You do like it though?"

And he cleared his throat, but failed to speak, only nodded again.

And she lifted up and prepared to mount him.

And he watched and prayed, with bated breath.

And the sky truly fell on them, and heaven came to Earth once more, as they rocked and loved each other with all their might.

And afterwards, showing a little mischievousness of his own, he reminded her that he knew that for the next few days, their lovemaking would be in the shower, twice a day – morning and night, and he wondered if anyone else in the world had noticed their pattern, both so spanking clean together about the same time each month. And she had to admit, now she did too, wonder the same thing.

And so, William and Julia would have to just wait and see how their fellow humans reacted to their cyclically over-clean states, now that they were watching more closely, with bated breath.


	7. 7: KNEEding You

Back to the Drawing Board_7_KNEEding You

) (

 _The fantasy rumbled through my entire being, uninvited. In reality, William standing next to me, me sitting at my desk in the morgue…_ mmm _, but in the fantasy, I stood up, backed him into the wall._ Oh, my God _, I seduced him mercilessly, pulled out my hairpin, let my curls cascade down over my shoulders, the reddish-blond wisps harbored and buoyed by my breasts, only to enticingly gather them up, sliding my fingers alluringly along my bare neck as I tucked the curls out of the way in a soft twist. I unbuttoned my top button. His eyes, intensely focused and wide,_ and oh so gorgeous _. He watched, resisting, fighting, his square, magnificent jaw locked tight, and I felt the cold air rush over my skin as I popped the next button free, cleavage open for all to see. And at that same moment, like a bull in full rage, his breath surged out of his flaring nostrils. And I knew, he was losing the battle, he was falling, he would succumb._

 _It happened so quickly, the switch, the flip. He rushed forward, took what he wanted, lifted me up and flung my bottom impatiently onto my desk, his fingers on my blouse, my marshmallowy, bosomy, tissues bending around his touch, pop – pop – pop – each button went. Exhilarating, the implosion in my womb as his face burrowed in, kissing and sucking and nibbling._

From far off and right next to me _, William's lovely voice_ , as if I were underwater _, called, "Julia,"_ slowly snapping me out of the lustful whim _, "Are you alright?" he asked._

 _Caught engaging in illusion, I would feign normalcy._

" _Oh… Yes, William," I answered automatically, but I had to drop my eyes, embarrassed. Still, my womb screamed, and tweaked so demandingly – I_ _ **needed**_ _him, uncontrollably… public place and his rigid morals be damned! And now it was_ me _who had locked my jaw and fought, so very hard, against my yearning. I felt it slipping, though, with the impulse to check about the morgue, the reminder playing in my head, "_ You sent Ted to the University. You're alone _." And, knowing it was safe, I pushed back my chair and rose to stand before him. I felt it, my mouth soft and opened. My God, I wanted him, so that it hurt drastically, so deep inside._

 _Living the fantasy, I reached up, his eyes, so beautiful, that warm chocolate brown, and enormous, and they were stuck to mine as my fingers found the top button of my blouse. So delicious, he swallowed, disclosing to me his efforts at self-control. But his eyes strayed, down… to see. Another button, and round, luscious cleavage twitched his groin. I saw his weakening, it floored me and spun me…_ Wham _, I plastered his hard, firm, body against my squishy, moldable breasts, pinning him against the wall, my hard-earned diplomas now all askew. My hands inside his jacket, thumbs catching his suspenders, his hunky shoulders sliding under my fingers, the cloth dropping to the floor. His breath flooding over me, both suspenders only dangling, first step taken in removing his trousers._

 _I noticed him do it, fix and plant his arms down to his sides with all his might, resisting. My finger inside the knot of his tie, the snug loop giving way. Then a deep, deep, kiss._ Oh my God how my body soared _, when he kissed back, hot, velvety soft, slippery and so… yummy, melting away my core. Our breathing elevating, hearts rushing, temperatures rising, flesh writhing and hungry, a single kiss broke off. The tender_ click _ing sound of the releasing of the vacuum that had accumulated between us, as if our lives depended on it, we sucked each other in, and the crisp sound drifted, gently floated, delightfully in the air around us. And he, William Murdoch, despite being in a public place, leaned for it, stretched for another needy kiss. Again, the fresh_ click _s in between perfect kisses, again and again, and I paused to find his ear, to tell him, "Oh, William, how I love that sound," just before taking his lips once more._

 _Sensing he was flailing, I needed to push him, tie undone now, shirt buttons dropping away, the next one in my grasp. He would be battling, dizzy and swirling, and soupy in his head, for_ _ **this was a public place**_ _… And_ _ **he would not**_ _. But… now… through our clothing… I could… feel… him… warm… hard, so very - UP... And_ , oh my God _, I knew he wanted me. He would not be able to deny it, and he knew I knew, and it made him delectably vulnerable._

"Over the edge, before he can regain control _," my brain sent me the order, and I seized the moment, fingers down to the round button, just atop his trousers, pinch, and gone…_

" _Julia, someone could walk in," he warned, his voice strained with the effort, his hands taking mine, stopping their advancing._

 _I did not behave, wriggled my hands loose, and the lush air of my words melding with the frantic rippling of his dense, warm, surging breath, I told him, increasing the danger, jolting the thrill, "Yes, William, they could."_

 _And I slipped my hand in, I was inside, and he was within my hold. In all my life, nothing so wonderful as the feel of him, so rigid, and hot, in my hand, as if I held his very being in my grasp. Luringly, my soft fist glided up towards his tip…_ Oh how marvelous – his gentle buckling _… each finger riding the bulge of the ring of flesh that would go deepest inside of me, then reversed, surging the deluge down over him, covering him, the pressure as my fingers rode downward, the tremendous squeeze…_

 _And then he catapulted me… with his earthy moan – "Mmm."_

 _My body fell, or was it the floor rising, and I told him, "My God, William, I love_ _ **that**_ _sound even more," with a whisper in his ear. And immediately he responded, humid and hot, then, with such a roar afterwards, demanding and ravenous, his breath barreled down… so straight down, to my deepest insides, with such a wrench the tightness tugged, knotting beyond my ability to bear it._

 _His hands moved, for his will had crumbled, rough and hungry they groped downwards, soaking in my curves, in along the contour of my waist,_ so small _, out over my hips, and then around behind my…_

" _Mmm," my God I had to let go of him in my hand, to be closer… to feel our touch THERE, and he moaned again with the new sensation of driving up into me – blocked only by the tiniest stitches of clothing. So roughly, his hold, as he took my buttocks in his grip, pulling me fiercely down into him._

 _Only then did I let completely go of his lips, nibble on his bristly, virile jaw. "I want you inside of me," I begged him. Then with a fury, his arms so rugged surrounding me, the flip, the roll, the_ thud _and…_

"What… Oh… The wall…" _my brain floundered to explain the sensations._

 _It couldn't possibly be fast enough – our touching, our connecting, our joining._

 _Fiercely, savagely, he pressed his larger body into mine, restraining me, jamming me against the wall. I had to have him, now. I reached down to raise my skirt, scrunching it up, wildly, and rushing, lifting my skirt for him. Soon he'd find I was naked, bear, available, underneath it… for him. After that, to shove at his opened trousers…_

 _His voice, breathy, desperate, he warned me, "Hands to yourself, doctor," he commanded._

 _At first, I couldn't identify it, the word in my head meaningless as he bound my wrists with it… "_ His tie… His tie _." My arms up, wrists pinned to the wall above my head, he locked me there with only one, strong arm, his other hand free to ravage me. Me, completely helpless. He would have his way with me… his knee into my thigh, spreading my legs wide, my toes reaching with desperation to stay to the ground, him so solid between my thighs, under me, lifting, pushing, opening, widening, in…_ _ **So Strong**_ _, he ruptured me… "Mmm," beyond possibility, in deeper… "Please William!"_

 _Deeper, such force, he pounded into me, his thrusts robust, and primitive, again, and again… "_ _ **William, my God, please, don't stop…"**_ _We gushed and whirled together in a torrent towards the very universe's edges, the top collapsing down, the bottom flying up. Almost! So Close! "_ _ **My God, William! Don't Stop!"**_ _my own words revealing my utter devastation…_

 _Blast! Blaring! Was that the phone ringing?_

No. No. I think it's the alarm.

Just a dream. Just a dream. " _Oh my God, how terribly I longed for him…"_

Julia felt it surround her, their bedroom. She felt her body be wobbled and dipped and flopped about softly by it, his side of the bed bumping and rocking as he moved. She heard it, the alarm clock's ceasing its toll. Heavenly, his breath in her ear. Delicious, _he's kissing me_. "Mmm," _Wake up. Wake up._

William's voice dry, he asked her, "Shall we share a shower, Mrs. Murdoch…" _I'm in his arms, magnificent, wonderful, warm, kisses…_ "We have to hurry, hmm?" he coaxed.

So big engulfing me, " _My God I want him…"_ His arms, warm, strong, surrounding me… lifting me… taking me. " _I'd go with him anywhere_ ," even the thought in my head, breathless, with the overpowering, overwhelming force of my need to be with him.

Their lovemaking, drowning them in ecstasy in the shower, this glorious morning, was… _**hearty**_ , the need to touch each other in their deepest, most perfect spot, only intensified by the urgency, for the clock ticked, and at any moment, their children would knock upon their bedroom door.

Afterwards, limp, their warm contentment rendering each of them softer, they hurried to cover their nakedness in a nightgown… and pajamas, and headed out, to greet their children.

Julia leaned in the doorframe of William Jr.'s bedroom to see their four-year old son playing on the floor, occupying himself patiently. "You're waiting for Daddy and me?" she asked him, feeling her husband's body settle behind her. How her heart erupted with her son's happy smile, the boy running full speed to have his morning hugs. Squatting down to receive him, Julia looked into her son's beautiful, chocolate brown eyes, so handsome like his father.

"Your hair is wet, Mommy?" he wondered, taking a cold, damp strand of her hair in his fingers.

Julia replied, with a quick glance up at her husband, "Your Daddy and I had a shower."

"Were you dirty?" the child asked innocently.

 _Oh, how mischievously Julia's mind jumped at the pun_ , so that she failed to completely mask her double-entendre inspired giggle as she held William's eye more firmly, and answered, "I guess it's true… your Daddy and I were a bit _**dirty**_ this morning."

 _How lovely, her husband's subtle scolding, ducking his chin, raising an eyebrow at her._

"You smell so good," the little one noticed with their closer hug, and the sweet waft of his mother's scent in his nostrils, that followed from it.

William reached down and tossed his son up into his arms. "And you, little man, are a little _**stinker**_ ," he teased, rolling and tickling and laughing playfully with him. Briefly holding his son nearly upside down, William uprighted him, and they headed for the next children in line.

"I don't want a bath!" the boy complained as they passed by the hallway bathroom.

From behind them as they moved further down the hallway, and around the corner to the last bedroom in the hall, his mother said, her son's brown eyes peering back at her from over her husband's shoulder, "You're safe this morning, young man… But tonight…" her voice lingered threateningly.

Inside the spacious bedroom, Katie and Chelsea, too, played quietly. Hugs quickly grew into roughhousing, and soon, the tremendously joyful sounds of children laughing and screaming, and Daddies and Mommies growling and chasing, filled the house.

By the time the two parents were out of breath, chests heaving, red-faced and happy, but now reaching the limit of their time to devote to such fun and foolery, Claire-Marie arrived. Having come from the servant's quarters on the other side of the house, she had anticipated the lovely family scene as her approach grew closer, climbing the stairs, almost there, the glee of it all putting a bounce in her step. Yet, playing her role, she marked her arrival with a take-charge announcement, "Good morning Murdoch's. Time to get dressed, is it not?"

Protests rang out from the children, not wanting to stop their game.

"Now how do you think that kind of 'good morning' greeting makes Claire-Marie feel," their mother scolded.

Good hearts, the children, they rushed to hug their nanny to make-up for it, and the morning routine moved on to the next stage.

Before they went down for breakfast, Julia informed William that she would be giving him a taste of his own medicine, and, much like he had done when he gave her the Christmas gift of their trip to the Galapagos, she would be giving him clues as to the what his Anniversary present was.

 _William held back his internal concern, for he had come to believe, as they had done for the past six years, that they would be following the tradition of giving gifts made of particular materials, the specific ones required for the given year – the first year - paper, the second year - cotton, etc. This year, their seventh year, was to be copper and wool, and he had worked so very hard to think of something meeting that requirement to give her…_

"Oh, William," she took his hand and led him to the foot of the bed to sit, "Come on. It'll be fun," she encouraged. She ducked around to her side of the bed, and carried _it_ back to him from her night table…

 _Well, he wasn't sure quite what it was, at first. But he did see part of the theme in the clue – copper buttons. Quickly he figured out what the clue was, but he struggled with its meaning. A calendar, with nearly the whole month of August covered in copper buttons. His mind raced. The birthstone for August is sardonyx. It's a striped reddish-copper colored stone, marble-like in texture… He had briefly considered using it on their bathroom fixtures when first building the house. Could the days on the calendar be when the stonemasons would be redoing their bathrooms?_ William's mouth wrinkled up. He just didn't think so. _And what of the buttons – perhaps she's buying me a new suit?_

"Well?" Julia pushed him, her sparkling blue eyes urging him to say something.

He shook his head, her resulting smile helping him see the fun in it after all. "I can't… I have no idea," he told her.

 _So beautiful her bounce_. "Good," she answered him. "Now you see how it feels… Don't worry. There will be another clue soon," she teased, then squeezed his arm in a loving hug, "Perhaps you'll get it then," she urged.

) (

By the time the Murdoch's stepped off the carriage to go their separate ways, her to the morgue, him into Stationhouse #4, they had covered much in the way of preparations for the Anniversary party. As the list of people to invite had grown bigger and bigger, they soon agreed it would be best to serve the food buffet-style, planning to put Eloise in charge, and instructing her to hire whomever else she wanted to help. They could set it all up in the dining room. Not having enough room for so many people to mingle comfortably in their house, they thought to use both the front and back porches, hoping for good weather. Needing more chairs, they decided to rent some, and then agreed to add renting a party tent, to put in the backyard, as well. And with that thought it had occurred to Julia, lighting up her eyes, _making it impossible for William to say no to her_ , that she wanted to have dancing – if not in the tent, then in their living room.

So excited, she had suggested enthusiastically, that they invite their Dance Instructor, from the dance studio where they took lessons together all those years ago. William's memory as amazing as ever, he remembered the man's name - Professor Otranto. And then he had leaned close to her in the carriage, and agreed with himself from way back then, that the dance lessons had truly been, "well worth the eight dollars," earning himself the pleasure of her giggle.

Now however, feet on the ground, a day of work ahead of them, and Julia still having a lecture class at the University to give as well later in the afternoon, they were both feeling overwhelmed. Spotting the Inspector arriving right alongside of their carriage, Julia whispered to her husband, "Perhaps we should have Margaret handle all of this?"

Relieved of the burden of having to deal with it all, William quickly agreed.

) (

Still bothered by the case of his abduction, William sat at his desk, looking at the photo of the man they had found murdered – the man Meyers had revealed was his captor – the enemy spy who had taken the false identity of James Wimmer – the man who had been killed by Meyers' _best man_ , put in charge of protecting _him_. He wondered after this "best man's" skills, the man's charge having had come so very close to death in the end. Guilt shoved at his conscious – this man could have died trying to save _him_ , protecting _him_.

Quickly, the feelings too strong, he tucked the photograph back under the, _now officially closed_ , file on his desk and stood to look out window. _How is it possible_ , his mind wouldn't let it go, _that I could be conscious enough to have been shown, and obviously grilled about, Rutherford's half-life formulas… So much so that I remember them well enough to recreate them over and over again so obsessively… and yet, not remember the man responsible?_ Turning his glance to see her morgue, he considered asking Julia to continue examining the drug he had been…

"Sir," George's voice from the door, "You're needed."

As so often happened with such news, his heart raced with the sense of thrill, of excitement. He had noticed too, however, that he always felt his face frown. _It was dark, all this murder and mayhem._ "Has anyone called Dr. Ogden?" he asked.

"Yes sir, Dixon, at the front desk," George answered. The constable, with his helmet already in hand, waited for the detective to grab his homburg.

) (

The victim was a young woman who had been stabbed, the knife still wedged in her chest, in her own home. The call had come in from a cleaner who had found the body in the kitchen. There was no sign of forced entry, no footprints in the blood pool around the body, no broken dishes or other signs of a struggle.

Dr. Ogden arrived shortly. She stated the obvious right away, trying with her usual failed morgue humor to tease, about the cause of death likely being, "the knife sticking out of her chest." Time of death was determined to be only three or four hours prior.

Julia stood, with William following to also stand next to her. "Can I take the body now?" she asked.

"Yes, doctor," her husband replied. His professional stiffness always a bit uncomfortable for her, she failed to stay completely in her role, and smiled at him.

William returned her smile, _and hid his inner conflict, for as usual, she warmed his heart, but it did tug at his concentration when working a case, and, so important, his initial findings at the scene._ However, he betrayed his tender turmoil with a sigh.

She nodded to him, an effort at apology, and got back to the case. "You'll be stopping by the morgue to retrieve the weapon, and her fingermarks, detective?" she asked.

Having found out that the woman was married, and her husband off to work, William told her that he and George would stop first to question the victim's husband.

"After that then," she replied.

"Very good," he tipped his hat at her.

) (

It was Constable Crabtree who came by for the knife and the fingermarks of the victim. "Thank you doctor," he said collecting them. "Detective Murdoch has brought the husband in for questioning," he told her. "The man's in the cells while the detective prepares for the interview. It seems the detective suspects him of the murder. He'll very much want to see if the husband's fingermarks are on the knife…"

"That won't be conclusive, George. The man lived in the same house as the victim – and as the knife," the doctor interrupted, causing a slight frown to form on the constable's face.

Changing the subject, George asked, "Doctor…"

The look in Julia's eye showed that she heard his concern.

"Well, perhaps it's none of my business," he took a deep breath, pushed himself out with it, "But the detective seems to still be… troubled, I guess, by, err…"

"His abduction," Julia answered him by knowing, "Yes, George. It was quite a traumatic thing to go through…"

George nodded, agreeing.

"And, I must say, someone who is so much in control… of themselves," Julia sighed, feeling compassion for her husband, "as William is… I think it troubles him most that he can't remember."

Wanting her opinion, George asked her, "Do you think Mr. Meyers truly believed taking such a risk with the detective was warranted… That having Canada's best spy watching over him would honestly be good enough to keep the detective safe?"

 _Having responded to the tension the question had raised inside of her by reaching up and rubbing her brow… And then recognizing how much the gesture was one she had picked up from William, Julia softly chuckled at herself_ before she responded, "From what I know of the man, he can't be trusted. But, my gut instinct tells me that he wouldn't do anything to hurt William." She finished her thought by wrinkling a corner of her mouth at George, _another gesture from her husband, she noted._

"I guess I'd agree," George replied, and then bid her good-bye, leaving with the weapon and the victim's fingermarks.

) (

Her preliminary postmortem report in hand, Dr. Ogden caught her husband as he exited the Interview Room. Detective Murdoch pinched his lips together upon seeing her there and said, "The husband confessed to killing his wife."

"That was quick," the doctor replied.

William nodded, "Yes," he agreed. "It seems the burden of it was more than he could bare. I had done nothing more than open up the handkerchief to reveal the knife," he added.

 _She took a deep breath, admired him, for although he would never say it, never take credit for it, Detective William Murdoch shone particularly brightly when it came to conducting interviews of suspects, and such a subtle move as displaying, before a guilty man, the very weapon he had used to do the regretted deed, was truly brilliant_.

"I think I might have found something that will make him regret killing her even more," she claimed. "His wife was…"

"Pregnant," William finished her sentence, earning a stare from his wife that offered both amazement and annoyance. He explained, "Her husband confessed to killing her _**because**_ she had been having relations with someone else. He became enraged when she told him this morning that she was pregnant."

"I see," Julia replied.

William went on, "He couldn't take the fact that she was _pretending_ that he was the father. It seems they had not been, um… having relations for quite some time, but only a few weeks ago she'd become," He glanced up into his wife's familiar blue eyes, struggling with the wording, "Well, she had been very… _insistent_ , lately."

"I see," Julia answered. _She considered saying it aloud, but hampered the thought. Male jealousy, once again had ruined the lives of three people, for the man's wife and her child were now dead, and he would likely hang…_

Interrupting her thoughts, William added, his comment infuriating her, "I don't think he'll get the noose. Men on a jury tend to feel a kinship with… such a motive."

Arriving in his office, Julia decided to push her anger at the male-dominated, unfair, sick world aside, and bring up another topic. "Before the call about the body came in, I phoned Margaret…"

"Oh?" he asked…

She smiled and went on, "She took the job. Margaret will be planning our Anniversary Party from here."

"Good," he answered simply, "Very good."

"I told her about the things we had agreed we wanted…" Julia poked him playfully with her elbow, "Including having a dancefloor."

William surprised her, for all the windows in his office were opened, as he took her in his arms. "Delightful," he said, "I will dance the night away with my beautiful wife, then," he promised winsomely.

Julia's eyes dropped down to his lips, and the tension between them grew, both feeling the need to share a kiss, both fighting against that need, the back and forth of it only charging the desire higher. It was William who withdrew, let go of her, stepped to the other side of his desk.

Lilting on the lovely waves of it, Julia fought in her head to remember what they had been talking about. " _Margaret! Yes, Margaret_ ," the memory came.

"Oh, and William," she drew his attention, "I hope you don't mind…" _the words surging an element of worry in her chest, for it was at this very moment that she realized he might_ , "I added James Pendrick to the list of invitations." She hurried past the discomfort she saw registering on his face, to say, "You know, as he's back from Panama now."

With a sigh, William sat down in his chair. " _Too late to do anything about it now,"_ his own voice told him, " _It's already done_."

 _His mind replayed the three of them – the Inspector, James Pendrick, and himself – in the bar. The sting of it still resonated as he remembered trying to break between the two enchanted men, bonding over their shared thrills at the World's Fair. He had made an effort to connect, reminding James that the_ _ **two of them**_ _had actually_ _ **flown**_ _–_ _ **together**_ _– over Niagara Falls…_

For her part, Julia was feeling regret. Her beautiful, sensitive husband looked so ambivalent with her news, _and she remembered how nonchalant and dismissive he had been about the effect his having been_ _ **left out**_ _by Pendrick and the Inspector had had on him. She remembered it so clearly, with a tug at her heart strings, the hurt look on his face as he sat, distracting himself with his latest invention – a hand-light that shone ultraviolet light, to use more easily at a crime scene to look for traces of blood and other bodily fluids._ _It had seemed to her that her husband and the other inventor had been developing quite a strong friendship, that was until Pendrick had become so enthralled by, captivated by, addicted to – really, his 'Fountain of Youth' pill._

The memory ran in her mind. _She had sensed something was troubling William, and somehow, she had known it had to do with James Pendrick being at the station that day, so she had asked William about it directly…_ "Oh, yes. That was it," Julia remembered. _She had said he should have invited Pendrick over to their home. She swore she heard it in William's voice, he was choked up when he told her, "Oh, I think he's out with the Inspector. The two of them seem to have struck up quite a friendship since spending time together in St. Louis at the World's Fair."_

Clearing her throat first, pushing the sadness down, Julia said, "I hear he's back flying now," _hoping to re-foster their connection_ , "Margaret said airplanes, more so than rocket-ships, I think."

"Good," he replied. _He would make the best of it_. So quickly he looked away, _the memory of her telling him that_ _ **Pendrick had kissed her**_ _searing his jealousy once more._ "Perhaps it will give us something to talk about then," he worked to cheer himself.

A big sigh released, Julia decided to move away from it. "Well, husband," she said, "I'm off to class. Miss James is finishing up with body, and I'll write up the final postmortem report tomorrow."

Wanting to feel closer to her before she left, he asked, "And Dr. Ogden, what thrilling topic will you be dazzling your lucky students with today?"

She sat next to him, her buttocks leaning against his desk, and then leaned down nearer to him. "Today, detective, they will encounter the astounding world of forensic entomology…"

"Oh!" he sounded truly delighted.

"Yes," she bubbled with glee. "I intend to share with them my own, young, early encounter with the subject… when a brilliant, and dare I say handsome, young detective placed some beetle pupae I found in the body into rotting liver… in his office!" she giggled with the memory of it, and reached up to cover her nose, adding, "Oh my, what a stink! But, the discovery that this detective's pupae had hatched _five days after_ all the others in the area led directly to the discovery that the body had been kept on ice! It was the main clue that ended up breaking the case! It still amazes me, William!" she declared.

He stood and took her in his arms again. "And I suppose your students will be able to guess the identity of this detective?" he pushed.

Such a lovely giggle, mixed with the guilty pleasure of loving the very man, "I do suspect so… yes," she replied, kissing him – saying good-bye.

Enjoying the feelings that watching his wife's round, and curvy, and _sexy_ backside as she walked away invoked in him, William decided, there and then, that tonight he would be buying a certain beautiful pathologist flowers.

) (

Julia Ogden's voice teetered on the edge of excitement as she told her colleague about her lecture. "Truly, Leo, you'd have been amazed at both the absolutely horrified and disgusted looks on their faces… and then, only fifteen minutes later, their totally awestruck grins at the wonder and the power of it all. They loved it!" she declared…

 _Julia not in her office at the University, but the door left open, William considered that she might be elsewhere in the building…_

Then…

Dr. Carruthers seated at his desk, Dr. Ogden sitting beside him on his desktop, she pulled up her skirt to reveal her stockinged legs. Their heads huddled close as he commented, his hands firmly holding her knee…

 _Leo spotted the shadow, the presence, just there in the background – at his doorway_ , jolting his eyes to check more closely. _Astounding the way panic had already flushed through him_ , his heart pounding, his voice dry. _"It was most definitely…"_ _He was sure of it…_

"Julia!" he nearly screamed it.

She turned to look, catching only the man's back – his hat – _**a homburg**_!

"That was your husband!" Professor Carruthers warned.

"Oh my God!" she completely folded with the dread of it. "He must think we were…" Julia was in a dead run before she even realized she had left Dr. Carruthers' office. She took off like a shot after William.

 _Down the stairs, around the corner._

 _The front door just closing. Faster Julia!_

 _Which way?!_

 _There!_

 _Faster!_

"William!" she called, to no avail, as a matter of fact, he only picked up the pace of his fleeing.

"William wait!" she screamed it now.

He could hear by her voice behind him, she was running – fast, and she was panicked, too.

Now, from close behind him, her tone deeper, lower, she ordered it really, "William Murdoch, you stop this instant!" Julia had broken down into a fast-paced walk, was working to quell her panic, to be more in control. Not yet within arm's reach, she noticed the yellow roses in is hand and she felt a sinking pain flood through her.

"William, it's not what you think," she pleaded. "He was examining my knee, uh, comparing it to his…" She had reached him now – took a hold of his elbow from behind. "Please William," _and such a relief shot through her when he stopped._

She stepped around in front of him, ducked and tried to catch his eyes. They were down on the sidewalk, somehow both fixed and glazed. His jaw was tight. _My God_ , she felt her throat closing up with the fear… her eyes welling with tears. _He had to believe her! Just had to!_

First – _it was always first, an inner voice told her_ – BREATHE. The sound of her collapsed lungs trying to take in air, gave it away, her distress was beyond palpable. Julia outright distraught with tears, reasoned with him. "Trust in what, I know, you know, William – our love. Don't doubt it so quickly. Remember how much you love me, and I love you. Remember it in such a way that you feel it… and you will know, then… that you are wrong about what you are thinking…"

His face lifted, his eyes, huge with betrayal, and yet so intently focused with anger, he said sarcastically, "So, there is no romantic interest… between you?"

 _It surprised her really, her own reaction – for she was angry._

Julia's chin jutted in the air, defiantly. "There could be, I suppose… If I were not so madly in love with you!" she yelled it at him. But then, she softened, "Damnit William, just being near you still gives me butterflies half the time…" she forced herself to breathe again, calmer. "Did you not consider our facial expressions?" she pressed.

William's jaw dropped. He was astounded – absolutely shocked. Stretching his arms wide, asking, his courting gift extending the length of his torment. He momentarily seemed to be about to cry. His beautiful eyes glassing over. But, he fought back from it, grit his teeth. Furious he let go a huge groan, "Arghh!" He turned. He would walk away.

Abruptly, a newfound fury in his eyes, he turned back to face her… to confront her. "Julia, you were sitting on the man's desk! Your…" his eyes darted down to her dress and he flung his arm at it, " _ **skirt**_ up, on your thighs…" And just for a moment he held her eyes…

And she saw how devastated he was and it collapsed her, surging her face with heat, and pain. And then she saw him react to that, and grow so deeply, deeply hurt, as he said…

"And he was… rubbing… your flesh," and he turned away, but she knew there were tears in his eyes now.

He walked away.

She followed behind.

 _She would tell him. He would hear. It would make sense. It would all be alright._

"I was arguing that you can tell gender from just a knee joint, if need be… based on that case years ago, remember?" walking less than a step behind him, she pleaded.

 _He remembered. From somewhere so far, far away, there was a slight opening, a tiny little spurt of – hope._

Her voice, in its own way lovely with its unique squeak, continued from behind him, seeming to gain ground. "We found only the femur, after a body had been dunked in hydrochloric acid, and I concluded it was from a woman – because of the dimorphic angle, where the thigh joins the knee, the angle being widened by the female's broader hips up at the top of their femur…"

William stopped. He remembered it. It was plausible.

From behind him, she watched as his strong shoulders lifted with his big sigh.

"You do remember?" she asked. The question was pointless, for as he turned back to face her she saw on his face that he did. That he believed her. And even, just a bit, due to a wrinkle at the corner of his mouth, that he was sorry.

Her relief was so intense, she nearly broke into tears again. She immediately apologized, for the emotions had flown so very dangerously high, "I'm sorry William."

"Me too," he said simply, and he offered her the flowers, and she took them, wiping away a tear as she did so.

"Thanks. Their lovely," she said.

They turned back towards the University, she slipped her arm into his as they walked. She collected her things. They found Professor Carruthers, still in his office. Julia told him goodnight. And together, they took a cab home.

) (

Later that evening, before bed, the same argument erupted again. Julia was still feeling angry about the fact that he would _even think_ she would be having an affair. For his part, William was still defensive about having been jealous.

Dressed for bed, but not able to bring themselves to _get into_ bed, because of the still burning disagreement between them, William admitted, "True, I'm completely certain, confident, that there was nothing sexual, sensual or romantic going on between you and Professor Carruthers – at least NOW I am. But, what I saw when I walked into that man's office... Well, no man should ever have to…"

"Oh, I see. So, your defense is that _**you're a man**_ and I'm _**your**_ wife," she barreled forward. She felt she was on offense with this. Soon he would be on the ropes.

"Any other man would have thought the same thing, if they saw…" he stood his ground.

"I didn't marry any of these _**other**_ men, William, I married _**you**_. I fell in love with _**you**_. Because I thought you were _**better**_!" she insisted, pronouncing the word 'better' crisply.

"I… I…"

"I thought _**William Murdoch**_ didn't believe women were men's possessions," she hit hard.

"I don…"

"Didn't walk around thinking that a man could _**own**_ a woman... control a woman," she slammed her point.

Feeling terribly defensive, yet standing up for himself still, he argued, "I don't thin…"

"Whose leg is this, William?" Julia challenged, pulling up her nightgown, changing her tactics.

 _Oh, despite his efforts_ , his eyes were drawn to it, as she extended her leg up into the air enticingly, impossibly long, the flesh succulently curvy at the back of the calf… _Inside his head he yielded with a secret moan,_ as he noticed, _amazing how it went right to his groin_ , the inside of her thigh, the flesh there remarkably firm and supple.

"Is this _**your**_ leg, William?" she asked, with warning in her tone.

Of course, he knew it was _not_ his leg. It is _her_ leg, no doubt… but, _my God_ , he wanted to touch it, feel it in his hands, kiss, and suck, and, _Lord_ , he wanted _to be_ _in between_ those luscious, luscious legs. Just the thought of it dizzied him, so delicious. Suddenly, William's Jaw jammed tight with fury, for he had let himself think it, imagine it, _**another man there…**_

"Does this leg _**belong**_ to you, William?" her eyes burrowed into him, waiting, not backing off.

He wrinkled his face, asking for apology before he spoke the words, "Yes and no…"

Dumbfounded for a split second, the world seemed to pause, to teeter on the brink, before Julia gritted her teeth, rammed her chin in the air. "Wrong answer mister!" she stormed, "Wrong answer!" almost with disbelief, with utter disgust. She grabbed his pillow, fished a blanket out of the closet, and then shoved the bedding into his chest.

William donned his deer-in-the-headlights look, watching his whole world slip away.

Julia's fiery tirade burned on, "You don't _**own**_ me, William… Despite what you might think!"

By the time she had fired that last statement at him, he found he was out in the hall, the bedroom door already slammed in his face, and his only hope was that the noise had not woken the children.

) (

Sleep had not come easily to either adult Murdoch that night, but by morning, exhaustion had taken its toll, and they each were deep in slumber when the children stirred. Julia was nudged awake by their little knock at the bedroom door. "Come in," she called out to them, working to gain her wits about her. _She had her nightgown on… William wasn't here…_

Her heart sunk with the awareness, the memory. _He was down on the couch. They had fought. She felt awful._

Bouncing and bubbly, the three little ones piled into bed with her. Hugs and kisses and questions about where Daddy was, and then their mother asked them to be little angels, and play for a while upstairs, because she wanted to talk with their Daddy downstairs, on the couch, in private.

Down at the foot of the stairs, Julia wondered if Eloise had noticed her husband had slept on the couch, certain the astute woman had. She heard a clang and a clink, here and there, in the kitchen. A part of her anticipated the warmth and comfort of what would come, the family, all together in there, sharing breakfast, she and William right as rain. " _Let's make this right,_ " she thought.

" _He looks cozy,"_ she tried to reassure herself, standing over him. She concluded that he was still sleeping, his back to her, his black hair ruffled about on top of the pillow, his big, rugged, shoulder poking out from under the blanket.

She sat down on the couch, where his knees bent away making a little pocket of room for her. Her weight shifted his balance, woke him. He rolled over. Sleepy, his look. William pulled his legs from behind her and sat up, dropping one foot to the floor, bending his other knee up onto the couch between them, and then propping his elbow up on the back of the couch. He watched as she slid back to rest her back into the soft fabric and turn to him, mirroring his position, soliciting the rising of her nightgown, exposing between them the very legs that had started the whole ordeal.

Not lacking in tension, yet stronger than it between them, seemed to be their trust. Grounded in that feeling, she said, "I'm sorry… William."

Pointless in hiding his relief, he kept contact with her eyes. "For what?" he asked, his voice dry and scratchy from sleep.

" _That was a fair question_ ," she seemed to scold herself. _Yet, one she had not been prepared for._

She wrinkled a corner of her mouth, admitting it. "It's hard to say, exactly… hurting you."

He sighed. _He was feeling it so intensely, how much he loved this woman, how much he needed this woman. And it was the pure, honest power of those feelings that had always driven him in these most difficult moments, inspired and motivated him to dig with all his might, to find the truth. She deserved –_ _ **they**_ _deserved – the truth._

He gave her a glance, she was waiting. She knew him well by now. When it came to finding his feelings, speed was not his virtue. He rubbed his brow. He sighed again. With that he started, "I was angry with you, you were right about that, but I was having trouble understanding why…"

Julia felt her own body softening. William was rarely able to admit to his anger. If nothing else, she knew in her heart that this man before her, was trying.

William went on, "It wasn't because you let another man touch your bare leg, at least, not mostly…" Another sigh, another rub of his brow. "It was because you are so demanding, Julia… So hard to satisfy…" He risked a glance, being quite self-disclosing now… "Julia…" A deep breath, it was growing clearer in his mind. "You set the bar too high… I was not as good as you expected me to be, as you wanted me to be… and I guess I don't think I'll ever be able to… trust you that much, to not…" he sighed again, the pressure feeling exponential, for he would have to admit to his failings, William glanced, finishing, "I don't think I am capable of it, of not rushing to jealousy. And…" William swallowed, ensuring the strength of his voice, "It hurt, not being good enough… disappointing you. And then," with a big exhale he said it, "that made me angry." He wrinkled his face, sharing with her his doubt, for to him, it did not make much sense.

 _But to her it did. And although she knew she would not be able to lower her expectations, for she did tend to presume him to be perfect, she regretted the pain her wishing for such a thing had caused for him. She found she admired him even more than she ever thought she could, for his bravery, his dedication and loyalty to her, and to the truth. William Murdoch was an astoundingly good man, and truth be told, he was perfect – for her. Her heart filled with love, and she so very much wanted him to know the love she felt for him, how much she loved him… She wanted him to feel_ _ **good**_ _… to wash away all the pain she had ever caused him, ever._

"In all the world, William," she said, leaning close, kissing his cheek, scooching closer, "there is not a better man." She touched his jaw, stroked her thumb across his morning stubble. Held his face in her hand, tugged gently at him, brought his gorgeous eyes to hers. "Not perfect…" she said.

He wrinkled his face admitting it… took a deep breath.

She swung a leg over him shifting him as she did so, riding up her nightgown, sat in his lap, with two hands holding securely to his face, she swore, "But I couldn't possibly love you more, even if you were perfect." Oh, with every ounce of love she had, she kissed him, more and more.

Just for a moment, she found his ear, and asked him, urged him, "Do you feel it William – how much I love you?" and she showered him with more kisses, "with all my heart, with every molecule and atom of my body, and all my soul, down to my deepest core, my center, and my universe, William, I love you."

He yielded to the overwhelming truth of it, and she felt him accept it, know it down to his bones – William Murdoch knew her love. She responded instantly, raising her passion – pushing against him to lie him down underneath her. She would drown him with it. Jiggly and soft, and wriggling, and pressing in against his body, she lured him.

But… William Murdoch… was quite adept at resisting temptation. _He reminded himself where they were._ His body stiffened under her, his hands taking a tender hold, stopping her. "Eloise…" he whispered.

" _Of course, he's right_ ," the thought scolded her. Julia pulled back… giggled, for she had imagined the other eyes that might be watching them – those of their three children peeking and watching from around the corner at the foot of the stairs.

"And others," she added, turning to check if her suspicions were right. Like lightning strikes thunder, the response to the shift in their parents' gazes to their direction was destined to incite a raucous and rumbling pitter-patter of rushed footsteps up the stairs. William and Julia shared a knowing look.

And so began another day, with each Murdoch spouse admitting to the other that they were, and probably always would be, " **needing you**."

)) ((


	8. 8: Anniversary Gifts

Back to the Drawing Board_8_Anniversary Gifts

) (

So very quietly, William closed the front door behind himself. He had set everything up, and there was a wonderful glee in his chest, for he was certain that she would love it. It was a Friday – their Anniversary. True, he had to leave earlier than usual to testify on a case, but it gave him the opportunity to scatter his gift perfectly, letting Julia's ' _opening_ ' occur free of having to interact with him with each new discovery. He would see her later at work. Their, in his opinion, rather enormous, Seven Year Anniversary Party was tomorrow. He allowed the feeling to just be – _he was happy_.

) (

Woozy with sleep, Julia wondered after the incessant ringing. " _Was it the alarm clock? Odd, from that side?_ " she tried to work it out through the mistiness.

"William," her scratchy voice reached for him in the golden hues of early morning sunrise. _No answer came… And still that ringing._

Reality filtered in, piece by piece. " _Bedroom… He's not here… Testifying this morning… Alarm clock! I have to get up!_ "

Unpleasantly, Julia bolted to uprightness and reached out to her night table to turn off the noise. The two events happened simultaneously as she turned; she remembered it was their Anniversary… And she saw the gift. On his pillow, left for her to find just like this, a single, magnificent, rose.

Her smile would have floored him, for her chest had filled with joy. The rose stem was made of copper, crooked and twisty, and garnered with just a few copper leaves. Taking it in hand, the reality could have pricked her, for here and there, _spiky_ , it was speckled with thorns. The yellow bloom, she knew before she touched it, would be made of wool. Under it was a note.

 _Julia Ogden, you are the ground in which I grow my roots, the breeze that kisses my skin,_

 _The thunder that rocks my being, the lightning that lights my sky._

 _You are my Sun and my moon, my day and my night._

 _You are my very spark of my life,_

 _And I love you, Julia Ogden, with every spec of my might._

 _With you, together – discovery, a new dimension, always there but previously unknown,_

 _And like height enhanced length, and width filled space,_

 _Just as time made each moment precious,_

 _I touched you, you touched me,_

 _And color flooded into my black-and-white world._

 _You are the sparkle on my water, the twinkle in my eye._

 _You are the warmth that surrounds me, flows through me, comforts me and thrills me._

 _Julia, I truly have seen the future, and too, the present, and the past,_

 _It was always you, will always be you, forever – it is you,_

 _my friend, my lover, my companion…_

 _my wife._

Once not enough, she read his note again. _My God, she loved this man_.

From her edges the awareness, the thought came – _the children would be knocking soon_. Looking to the door, she first spotted it… the excitement igniting her heart. _Another rose on the back of the bedroom door… one on the wall… another on the floor!_ Memories, so deep she felt them rumble in her flesh, rolled through. " _Where we've made love!"_ the thought electrified her.

In a rush, she dashed to the bathroom. One on the countertop, behind the door… _Oh my God, of course,_ as she checked, in the shower. With a chuckle she thought to herself, " _Here, he should have placed two."_

She knew William Murdoch – he always bought a dozen! Her brain was exhilarated with the challenge, " _The foyer! And the kitchen table!"_ Anticipation surged her, and she threw on her nightgown, and snuck, ever so quickly and quietly, out of the door. Her arms already full of copper and wool roses, down the first half of the staircase, and then around the bend.

A soft clatter from the kitchen – _Eloise was there. "She would have seen them!"_

Still, the beauty of it halted her, almost down to the bottom, now. Adhered to the wall of the foyer, _so many times there, passion had stirred_ , just the one, lovely rose waited… for her. A glance into the living room, " _I should have been counting_ ," another rose lying alone on the sofa. More conscious with this one, she lifted it into the air. " _Yellow, like our wedding_ ," she thought, adding it to the others – _Nine now, three more to go_.

Approaching the kitchen through the hallway, her memory flickered with all the times, _so often in the kitchen it was in the middle of the night_. Usually, one of them would have found the other unable to sleep. They would have talked, most often with the cozy warmth of hot chocolate shared between them, and romance would brew.

 _She wondered if it would be awkward with Eloise_. The woman turned from the stovetop and said, "Good morning, doctor." Her eyes dropped to Julia's arms, full of copper and wool roses and she smiled. "There are few more," she said, gesturing to the kitchen table and then at the wall behind it.

Fairly certain that Eloise had grasped the point of the specific locations, Julia failed not to blush. "Yes," she replied, gallantly trying to sound nonchalant, "I suspect there will be a dozen."

Such a mischievous smile on Eloise's face as the woman answered, "That many!?"

Clearing her throat with the charging tension, Julia stepped behind the older woman. Removing the tenth rose from the wall behind the kitchen table, Julia marveled momentarily at her husband. Even the adhesive strips he had used to fasten the roses to the walls, and the doors, and the shower, were an invention of his. Her mind laughed at remembering William telling her that George had wanted to market them – _Constable Crabtree's Household Adhesive Strips._

Lifting the eleventh rose into her arms, Julia now found she had run out of… _places_. She looked to Eloise, considering asking her if she had seen the last one, somewhere in the house.

Eloise giggled and probed her, "Not in the dining room?"

Julia racked her brain, _but no, she didn't think they had ever_ … Again, she had to clear her throat. Still, it was worth a look.

In the center of dining room table, she saw it, _the thought crossing her mind that she wondered why they hadn't actually made love in here… yet…_

 _He was brilliant! A vase, of course they would need a vase._ And she recognized this one. It was exquisite… and expensive! She had admired it at Ducharme's shop. _My goodness_ , Oscar must relish the day she had brought William Murdoch into his shop to show him the lipsticks that she figured would match the shade used by the woman kissing people to death on one of their cases. There was another note. This one was quite short.

 _At first, I considered seven – one for each year. But as you can see, that would not be enough._ (Reading it, Julia raised her eyebrow with the scandal of his meaning, and her face erupted in a smile). " _No, detective,_ " she thought to herself, " _It would not_."

" _Now, where is that last one?"_ she scrunched her eyes searching out the back door onto the patio… and the backyard. _Nope_ , she didn't think so. _Hmm… always a mystery, this William Murdoch._ She would let her thoughts settle, see if it came to her later. Julia arranged the eleven copper and wool roses in their delightful vase. For now, they would stay here on the table. Their guests would see them when they came in for their buffet dinner and drinks. " _The party's tomorrow!"_ she reminded herself with a pinch.

) (

Having been quiet these last few days at work, Detective Murdoch had returned to one of his inventions – one that had been erased from his blackboard by Meyers many weeks ago – bullet-resistant glass shields. His design involved the glass shields being carried, or at least placed, in front of constables, and others, when the situation forced the confrontation of armed suspects, like hostage situations or bank robbers holed up, etc. Quite a while back now, before he had left with Julia and William Jr. to adopt Katie and Chelsea, he had been able to arrive at calculating effective thickness margins and the ideal ratio between the celluloid layers – which allowed flexibility and shock absorption, and the glass layers. The problem had been the weight. The more layers, the more protection… but also the more mass to be dealt with.

The Inspector knocked on his open door, receiving a nod to come in. "What is that big brain of yours working on now, Murdoch?" he asked.

 _Within only the first few words the detective uttered in response, Inspector Brackenreid had sighed… "Bloody hell!" It would be another one of the man's long, twisty-turny, head racking, explanations!_

"Well sir, it was actually discovered by mistake in 1903, when a glass flask containing cellulose nitrate was dropped and it broke _**but without shattering**_ … by a Frenchman, Benedictus," the detective answered. Turning away from his board momentarily to see his superior's face. Murdoch wilted. He would put the man out of his misery. "It's a special shield, sir," he simplified, "that is transparent, but blocks bullets."

Brackenreid perked up. _That really was quite phenomenal!_

Checking to see the reaction, the detective now worried, for his boss looked excited about the idea, and there were still some major problems he needed to contend with.

"Can you really do that?" Brackenreid beamed.

Hedging, Detective Murdoch answered, "Well, um… Well, the material is a bit too heavy, err, for the width we would want to provide adequate protection. And I think it might end up being quite costly, as well."

"How much?" the Inspector pushed, "For each one?"

Murdoch frowned, but pressed on. "I have commissioned a glass factory – uh, an associate of Crabtree's business partner, actually… Samuel, at their automobile repair shop…"

The Inspector nodded.

"I have paid him for the prototype… thirty-five dollars," he said.

"Bollocks!" the man reacted, increasing the depth of Murdoch's frown.

"The rest would be much cheaper after that first one, I'm sure, sir," he encouraged. "We'll just have to make sure we're satisfied with it… Don't want any changes," he added with a shrug.

"Well, Murdoch, one of the benefits of marrying the doctor, I presume," the Inspector teased.

His jaw dropping, a notion about speaking in his defense, but not finding any words, Murdoch sighed, accepting the truth of the situation. "Yes, sir," he replied with his customary 'admitting it' corner of the mouth wrinkle.

) (

Over at the morgue, Julia was taking advantage of the lack of bodies as of late to clean and organize the supplies. Sitting in a chair in front of her opened medicine cabinet, a memory fluttered by, instantly filling her chest with a bitter-sweetness, from remembering her pain at the time it had happened as it mingled with her current awareness of her joy with how it had all turned out in the end. Stirred by the glass of the medicine cabinet door catching the light just so when she had bumped against it, she remembered seeing William's reflection in that very same glass many, many years ago.

With the specifics of the memory, imagining the dark wavy image of him… distinct enough that she had been able to make out that he held his homburg in his hands in front of him, she marveled at the power of her reaction, now, all these years later. For Julia's eyes had teared. _Amazing really, for she they had_ _ **not**_ _done so… back then._ With a deep sigh, she reminded herself of the situation. She had married Darcy, and William had disappeared – never had come to the wedding. And then she had heard of his return. Unbearable, seeing him. She had feared it would be so, but it had only been in that very moment, when she saw his reflection in the glass, that she had known, with all her heart, that the devastation of it would undo her.

She cleared her throat and told herself to take solace in the fact that they were together, they were happy, now. Inevitably, her mind drifted to their Anniversary. She remembered William's face, both happy and strained with his efforts of solving the puzzle, when she had given him the second clue to her gift – a copper engraving from Jack London's book, _The Call of the Wild_. She had meant the clue to be the Klondike, but the engraving was of a man with a dog. She hadn't thought of the possibility until she saw William's struggle, for he truly longed to find a way that the clue meant _he would be getting a dog_ – that _that was his Anniversary gift._ He had asked her, trying to confirm his mind's direction, "Is it that some dogs are said to have 'wooly' coats?" A smile slipped onto her face… _He used to tease incessantly about getting a dog… Less so once they had William Jr…_

It interrupted her thoughts – intrusively, with its curiosity. First, just a flash from this morning, thinking that the children would soon be knocking on the bedroom door, then the second rose, and then her own puzzle. _Where was that last rose?_

Possibilities presented themselves. There was the time they had returned from seeing the Peter Pan play, and William had playfully stolen her red feather. He had hidden in the guest room, after having had stuffed her **feather… in his pants!** " _We only,_ almost _, made love_." Julia giggled out loud in the empty morgue with the memory. She had found her feather, and then seized his bowtie, taken off at a mad dash down the hallway, only to turn back to see him… horizontal – flat out as if he were flying, falling with a loud _splat_ onto the floor, all because his trousers had slipped down around his knees. _It was truly hysterical,_ and she yielded to outright laughter.

Next, she considered the front porch… _No_. _(But she was still optimistic that someday he would overcome his conservative ways and take such a risk – it was, nearly, in the public eye)._

 _Perhaps his reclining chair?_ – so very, very close. _An awful lot of passionate kissing_ … but not ever quite… _No._

 _Maybe down in William's workroom?_ **Oh** , the memory of it stunned her! Her brain splitting into multiple directions – each one shooting a different emotion through her body. _Yes! it was there!_ The thought filling her with excitement and satisfaction, for she had solved the puzzle. _And, My God, how sexy was that?_ For she had hidden in their house in the early stages of its construction, to surprise him for his birthday… Wearing very spicy, red, hot, leather short, _short_ bloomers, and the skimpiest of red leather corsets… And she had interrogated him, roughly, aggressively, demandingly, enjoying the stimulating effect of her use of George's billy-club as a prop had had on the experience – the whole scene designed to recreate a wild and arousing dream he had had. Her insides reacted to the memories, twisting and tweaking so deliciously. But, too, there was the pain – William had had that dream after the Prussian had chloroformed him while he was searching for Enid Jones' lost son, Alwyn. It was a time that Julia had lost him, and she had been hurting so very, very badly.

A cheerier internal voice changed the subject. _That was the closest they had come to making love in public – well, except for that first earthshattering picnic with the absinthe_. Constable Marks had surprised them, his footsteps, his voice, on the stairs, coming down to check for possible intruders – diligently looking out for the detective's property.

She would check William's workroom first thing when she got home, sure the twelfth yellow copper and wool rose would be there.

) (

At dinner that night, fish, for it was Friday and the Murdoch's were Catholic, Katie accidentally spilled her glass of milk. As happens with such sudden emergencies, the table erupted into motion.

"I'm sorry," the little one called out, both urgency and trepidation in her high-pitched voice.

Quick to reassure her, from across the kitchen table, her father soothed, "It's O.K., pumpkin, don't worry about it," as he dashed out of his seat to take the dishtowel Eloise had already managed to offer.

Next to the little girl, her mother wrapped an arm around her, helping to guide the child back from the mess while William mopped it up. "There's no point in crying over spilt milk," she giggled at her own colloquial willingness to share the overused saying, in its most literal sense, but she had found it to be irresistible – _so very apropos_.

Once things had settled down, William Jr. asked, "Why'd you call Katie "pumpkin," Daddy?" elaborating, "She's not a pumpkin?" The boy kicked his legs back and forth in his booster seat…

 _The overall image creating a bright bouncing motion that reminded William of one of his most beloved gestures of Julia's._ He explained that he had used the term endearingly, to help Katie feel loved and safe, at a moment when she was so upset.

 _That made sense_ , but, typical of when one is in the company of three and four year olds, it only brought up more questions, prompting Katie to ask, "But why do you call Mommy "doctor," and "Julia?"

Only to be interrupted by William Jr.'s dominoing, "And Mommy calls you, "Mr. Murdoch," or "husband," or…

"Dective," Katie jumped in again with the contagious questioning.

William contently looked on as his wife took up the task of satisfying their curiosity. She started by saying that such names were called, 'nicknames,' or sometimes, 'pet names,' and that such names change depending on the situation, and the feelings the speaker has towards the person in that situation. Nicknames are changeable, and fluctuate, but there were usually certain ones that became favorites…

Happy to stand back and just admire her from afar, this particular aspect of hers to be one he most cherished. Julia Ogden… engaging, eager to play with you, to try her darndest to come up with an answer for you. His heart grew exquisitely warm in his chest as he studied the contours of her face, and fought the urge to grasp one of her enticing, wispy, curls, and he imagined the soft feel of letting his knuckles glance across her cheek as he did so, his calloused thumb memorizing her beautiful face… Connotations played in his mind… nuanced memories.

 _In the dance studio, them each seeking lessons before the Dinosaur Ball. It was the first time he had ever held her in his arms. Maybe it was his discomfort, his nervousness, that caused him to ask it, but it seemed so urgent, stuck on his mind, at the time. He asked to discuss the case – a rather serious one, involving hideous murders, frighteningly similar to those of Jack the Ripper. It had been obvious that she was expecting a different question from him, a more romantic, more intimate, question, but still, she did her best to engage with him, to be with him, where he was rather than where she wished he would be. The memory as much in his body as in his mind, their moving together, her blink of her eyes, accepting his avoidance of what they both so clearly felt for each other. William heard, clear as day, Julia's answer in his head, "All right, well, he arrives in the city and he needs to kill…" Then, in a snap, the memory became replaced by another, so similar the circumstances, he recognized now, him asking to discuss a case… this one involving the effects of absinthe, while they were on their first picnic, and all the while his heart and his soul, and embarrassingly his groin, screaming at him to kiss her –_ that she was the one _._

"William?" Julia's voice tugged at him from the other side of the kitchen table.

His eyes to hers.

"Are you ready… for your final clue – your Anniversary gift," she wondered, "In the living room, I thought."

"Of course," he replied. Immediately his mind started reviewing her clues – copper buttons on a calendar, a copper etching of a man with a dog… " _I wonder if it's significant that it's John London's book? Did I ever tell her I met him… when I ran away there, to start a new life without her…"_

The clue was already there on the coffee table. Julia bounced with glee watching William's face, for he was enthralled with it all. Such mystery, she knew he hadn't yet figured it out, but she also knew he would love it! The clue was an elephant statue, made of copper, of course, but it was hard to tell, as it was completely covered. Wearing a coat of twisted strips of wool, it reminded of a wooly mammoth…

Oh, how his gorgeous eyes sparkled! An idea!

"Fossils?" he asked her. He tried to warn himself. _Sound less excited, in case you're wrong…_

"Yes William!" Julia jumped with the news, "Dinosaur hunting! In Alberta – the Klondike. I've gotten you the days off form the Constabu…"

"The calendar! I'm a "copper," he yelled, his arms opening to call her into a rambunctious hug.

She obliged. Dove into his arms.

Their children, too, rushed to join in the hug, wrapping their arms around their parent's legs. Even the littlest, Chelsea, tried, needing to be lifted into her mother's arms to safety.

Her breath in his ear, she said, "I promised you you'd get there, detective."

And the memory of his vision swept through him. _**He had seen her, HER, then! That far back. And they had had a son**_! Erie and powerful, his eyes held hers. Every emotion, every thought, in that moment. A sigh, a blink, and the awe of it passed. He'd tell her later – tonight…

They stepped apart and William picked up the "wooly mammoth" statue, astounded by it. In the background, the hitch loitered – such a thing, such a trip, not possible if she weren't wealthy, but like a mountain one had attempted to climb many times before in the distance, he knew he would encounter it again. But for now, it was far off.

"It came to me when I saw Madge Merton's article… about us and the rabbits," she giggled, _and he couldn't possibly love her more._ "Remember, all those different photographs in the newspaper…"

He did.

"And one was of the two of us at the Dinosaur Ball," she explained the birth of her idea. "We can take the children with us," she caught his eye, somehow grounding him despite her excitement, "I thought we might bring Claire-Marie. She could stay with the children in the hotel, um, in town, and we could… well, I don't know exactly…"

Her voice trailed off, before she wondered, "Do you think it will be in tents? Picture the stars, William!" she declared.

He smiled and said, "Well, Mrs. Murdoch, even if we don't find any dinosaur bones, at least it will be romantic." And then he gave her a kiss.

And their children complained and groaned, for they kissed, "ALL THE TIME!"

) (

The next day, while dressing for the party, William found his mind troubled with thoughts of contending with James Pendrick. "Julia," he ventured, adjusting a cufflink… He caught her smile out of the corner of his eye. His discomfort forced his need to clear his throat. "You said Margaret heard a reply from James Pendrick?" he asked, failing in appearing casual.

She wondered at such a thing bothering him now. " _He hasn't really seen Pendrick since…_ " the secret thought electrified her – " _the kiss_." _Perhaps the problem was William's being pushed aside by Pendrick, whom William believed was_ **his** _friend, back when Pendrick had become more attached to the Inspector, more so than the whole "Lurker" thing_ , she hoped. Julia focused her attention on her earring.

"Yes," she answered. Refusing to give away her anxiety, _she fought the swallow… the 'ahem' the tickle in her throat called for._ "Pendrick should be coming," she said, tightening her lips, locking her mask in place.

In his chest his heart raced, dizzying him. _He would ask_. William turned, took a step in her direction. Mustering his courage before he managed to start, "Julia, I've been thinking, um, about when he kissed you…"

First finding his face in the mirror… _So odd, the dreadful déjà vu, her fumbling with an earring before a big party, her husband asking… questions in the mirror._ Julia took a deep breath, keeping her wits about her, and wrinkled her face, so minutely, then corrected it. She stood and faced him. "William, when that happened, James Pendrick was out of his mind… He was 'the Lurker,' high on his potion. He probably doesn't even remember it," she eased.

"But…" and with the question his eyes pleaded, beautiful, and big, and brown, "Did you like it?"

" _Oh, he wouldn't take this well…_ _ **Lie!**_ _"_ a voice inside her yelled. And she took up the fight against it. _Brave enough to ask, he deserved the truth_. She had not kissed a man since… well, except for Darcy, since she had fallen in love with William Henry Murdoch, and it terrified her, because she had liked it. But, it should not, because even though her body had responded, her soul had not – and she was still madly in love with him…

It was her hesitation, her inner battle, that he saw, _and he knew_ … from her pause, her expression showing an internal struggle. He saw it.

"You did," he said, stunned, in little more than a whisper.

She heard it more than felt it, in his held breath, in the silence, the thin, jagged crack cutting through the ground between them. Watching his eyes, feeling it just under her toes at first, the trembling, as, what had always been solid earth, shivered and crumbled into the threat of dusty nothingness.

 _Insignificant really, just a tiny crack_ , she told him, "William, it meant nothing." _But the gap only grew wider._

She tried reasoning, starting with something he would recognize at a personal level. "William, you know how I react when you are assertive… take what you want. And that's what he did. He took what he wanted – no hesitation. And he wanted ME!" she rushed to explain.

William's eyes wide and hurt, _he had not yet found the anger that usually curled his fists when feeling jealous._

"William… It meant nothing. I told you that," she pleaded. Then a thought came to her, _put the shoe on the other foot…_

"Did you not find yourself attracted to HIS wife?" she demanded.

Suddenly on the defensive, he argued, "I never _**kissed**_ her!"

 _The words, each sentence, hers, then his, like a tiny pebble bouncing down through the abyss, hitting her side with a 'tink,' his side with a 'bonk,' the warnings echoing up into the gut, the Doppler effect in play as the soundwaves stretched away with their increasing distance, the tone, the timbre, growing lower and farther with each blow, as the distance, the depth, of the rift grew bigger._

Images ran through William's mind _._ Many times it had gotten dangerously close with Sally – James Pendrick's wife. _Wham_ , it hit, landing hard with a jolt in his groin _, the memory of the exquisite feelings seeping deeply into him when he came upon Sally Pendrick posing in the nude for her portrait. He had definitely, undeniably, been aroused by James Pendrick's wife…_

Julia desperately sensed the peril – _time was running out to mend the rift. She needed to be with him, and the only way was with the truth._

She reached over to him. Grabbed his shirt collar with both fists. Pulled, pulled him close as she moved back, taking him over the gap, pulling him to her.

Julia's big blue eyes held tight, promising, swearing, her honesty, her love for him, her care. "You asked if I _liked_ his kiss, William. You did not ask if I would have surrendered to it… Or even if I had kissed back – which I did not. And furthermore, I said it then and I meant it, I had had _better_ than his kiss, and husband, it was with you."

She kissed his cheek. "And still is," she said, with a soft touch, her lips on his. "Please let it go, William. It was no threat to us, to what we have. I promise." She kissed him again, then once more. "I love you profoundly, William. I am beyond satisfied, I'm ecstatically in love with you…"

Such a deep, deep breath… He would try. He gave her a gentlemanly nod. "Good," he said, lips wrinkled tight.

"Good," she smiled, and they held each other that extra, needed, moment to ensure their bond.

) (

The chairs and the party tent, complete with dancefloor, out in the backyard, the first round of drinks and food all set up in the dining room, William went to open the front door. It would stay opened throughout the duration of the party. Abundantly grateful for the good weather, he pulled the doorknob to be greeted by the magnificence of the late afternoon sunlight, and the musical chirps of the birds, and such a wonderful sweet scent. And then his eyes caught sight of the surprise. Their entire front gate fence along the sidewalk by the street was flooded in soft pink petals, packed tight with salmon-colored roses. It had to be hundreds and hundreds of roses!

"Julia!" he cried out, his excitement contagious, rushing her to his side.

"Oh my!" she declared. "What… Who?"

Up on the porch, tucked into one of the bundle of roses closest to their door, was a card…

 _To my favorite Detective and his noble Doctor,_

 _May your swimming together be the perfect balance between the challenge of making it upstream, and the rush of being carried with the current._

 _And may Murdoch learn to fish._

 _In celebration of your wonderful union,_

 _please enjoy the salmon blooms._

"Terrence Meyers," William said aloud.

"How do you know it's him?" Julia asked, her brow strained with the oddness of it all.

"Something he said, about you being like the noble salmon, swimming upstream, and it being a shame I don't fish… one time, um when he was congratulating me on our marriage," William worked to remember the details aloud.

"Oh, I see," she replied. Gazing across their front yard to the flower-drenched fence-line, Julia wore a questioning face, "Trying to make amends, I suppose?" she suggested.

 _Her husband, rightfully so, seemed conflicted_. Making an effort to enjoy the gift, William wrinkled a corner of his mouth and said, "They are lovely."

She would help his endeavor. "He did put his best spy in charge of looking out for you, William. It seems most likely that Meyers simply didn't expect the degree of danger you ended up in… hmm?"

He wrinkled his face more and forced a nod.

"And his man did kill your attacker…" she pointed out, considering adding that it was a bit too late by the time the man had done so, but deciding against it. She rallied, taking his arm in a squeeze. "And you're right. They are quite lovely."

They turned and headed back into the house, "So he thinks of me as noble?" she asked.

"Don't be too impressed, Julia," William warned, "He also called you a _pistol_."

She returned by teasing, "I take that as a compliment, William."

 _Ironically_ , he thought to himself, _it was her pistolly, unpredictable, wild side that most thrilled him about her, so, in the end, it turned out that he had to agree._

) (

Within an hour, the party was in full swing. Many of the people from the doctor's and the detective's past and present were in attendance. William and Julia's dance instructor from years ago, Professor Otranto, came accompanied by the first woman William had ever really danced, the first time he took a lesson at the dance studio – Catarina. Dr. Isaac Tash came and brought along his friend – James. Nearly every constable from Stationhouse #4 was there, most with dates, notably George Crabtree who came alone, Henry Higgins with one of his girlfriends, and Angus Jackson who came with Anne Baxter, whom the doctor knew as a past student of hers at the University. From the University, Professor Leo Carruthers attended, with his wife, and Dr. Augusta Stowe-Gullen was there for a short while. Rebecca James came with her fiancée, Nate Desmond. James Pendrick came, arriving with the Inspector. Detective Watts also came, one of the few, he came alone. Some friends from Club attended, most of whom were Julia's friends through her work with either charities or the suffragist movement. One of them, Margaret Hale, who was with her husband, was noteworthy for she still strove towards obtaining a position in political office. Ellie Masterson, one of Julia's friends since way back when she had gone undercover to spy on Ellie's basketball team to help William with a case, attended, and brought a woman friend. The director at the Asylum – Dr. Clark and his wife, also attended.

Thinking over the crowd, Julia noted to herself that, if it were a wedding, there would have been only a two people on the groom's side of the aisle, that is besides Constabulary members and their partners. This made the presence of these two good friends of William's all the more valuable to her. It was amazing, for the two women seemed to have found each other among those in the group, for when Julia went to personally Freddie Pink and Mrs. Kitchen for coming, she found them sitting together in the backyard sharing stories about William.

Many of their guests brought along their children, and to help with watching them, Claire-Marie met many fellow nannies who were also at the Murdoch's Anniversary Party.

Fortunately, their invitations had specifically requested that people not bring gifts, but there were a few. James Pendrick invited the whole Murdoch family to go flying. Julia watched on with intense relief as Pendrick seemed to connect comfortably with William around the topic of his latest endeavors in flight. She knew it was unlikely, for things just were not usually that easy, but it looked possible that old rifts had been mended all around. Pendrick made no mention of, "the kiss," and she figured it was something his drugged mind had lost forever, much like William had lost his memories from the time of his, relatively recent, abduction.

 _ **{Shhh…}**_

Finding himself alone with his wife in the dining room, Julia pouring herself another of Margaret's favorite chocolate liquor drinks, her back to him as he came in from checking on the children in the backyard, William stepped behind her. His voice sounding a moment before his touch, sliding his arms around her from behind, he said, "Mrs. Murdoch," and then traveled the contours of her jaw, her ear, and then down her scrumptious neck with his lips. He loved her reaction, sinking back into him, heavy, soft, with such a very quiet moan.

"We should be careful," she answered him, "anyone could walk in."

"Mm," he replied, not slowing his amorous attentions.

Julia's fingers slipped up to explore his face, glide back into his hair. Her eyes settled on the vase of copper and wool yellow roses, displayed at the back of the drinks table. "I do so love your gift, William," she said, then realizing she could be referring to any number of things – his Anniversary gift… his many other… _**gifts**_. She put her glass down and turned around, pressed her body into his, and found his ear. "Or should I say, GIFTS," she whispered, tilting her pelvis into his with the words, so suggestively… so seductively.

Inevitable – their kiss.

She felt it dissolving away so very quickly, her resistance. Delicious and demanding, her insides yanked and twisted and collapsed, her mouth wanting him, her womb wanting him, her soul wanting him _. Too fast, this plunge… and William Murdoch would never allow it to…_

He exhaled, the sound rife with his frustration. He stepped back, took her beautiful face into full view. Unable _not_ to touch, her twisted and twirled a dangling curl in his fingers, and watched her eyes regain focus, his insides screaming with the glee from the knowing that it was _**he**_ who had thrown her so far off kilter.

Her smile, before she brought it up, such mischief in her tone. "Surprising, is it not, that there was not a rose in here?" she asked her lover.

William's face betrayed a hidden effort, an inner struggle, that intrigued her with delight.

"William," that lovely giggle in her call, "What is it?"

His mouth opened… then closed again. It seemed he was having trouble finding the words.

 _Then he devastated her, just a simple look, but so intensely powerful. He gave her a sideways glance, and his mouth… it suppressed the most devilish and winsome of smiles, with a tiny tremor. She remembered the first time he had looked at her that way. It had floored her then as it did now. He had a secret, and she was in the midst of figuring it out, back then it was that_ **he** _had paid for the burial of a victim on a case, on his detective's salary no less. Now his secret was…_

She cocked an eyebrow at him and pushed, "There was no flower in here, William…"

 _And her heart exploded with his hesitation…_

His voice scratchy, he replied, "I had a problem…" William stepped back another step. "You see, there were thirteen… err… places…"

"Really?!" she closed the space between them, absolutely enthralled by him. "And one of them was in here?" she wondered.

He nodded… and swallowed, and Julia melted even more with love for him. Her eyes took to flying about the room… searching. And she spotted it! And she remembered! And it was magnificent! " _Would he have placed a rose_ _ **in there**_ _too!?_ " her mind jumped.

William began to explain, "I was unsure as to whether you would remember, and so I…"

Julia grabbed his hand and dragged him to the hidden door in the dining room wall. Only a quick glance back, around, outside, before she unlocked it… Both of their hearts thundering, such a risk, even opening up the secret passageways at all, but then, there it was – adhered to the wall, the same wall where their passion had so lusciously soared once before, a single, RED, copper and wool rose.

 _He would never know if she understood the significance, red for his lusty passion for her, the thirteenth rose for being her secret admirer…_

There was no hesitation – she pulled him in, and closed the door behind them, enveloping the lovers in the darkness, shrouding them in a mysterious absence from the world outside, secreting them away in a hidden dimension.

 _It tweaked at his consciousness, their extra TALK with William Jr. and Katie about the secret passageways needing to remain "secret" at the party – not being places for fun and play…_

But, he was captured by the way her body molded to his, and her elevated breathing, and her lips, and her open, delicious, drowning mouth… And he yielded to the force of it, removing her clothes, removing his clothes. _Oh my God, the_ **taste** _of this woman_.

Her voice, raspy and hungry from above him as he moved, buried, humid, in her sultry lushness, "My God, William… Mmm," her moan roared and rumbled.

Voices from the other side filtered into his brain. _People! They would hear!_ William stopped the motion. Stood silently to place his finger, precise, yet respectful, on her lips. The quietest sound he had ever made, "Shh," he told her, and clinging to each other, nearly naked and daring, they worked to hush their breath and listened, imperiled by the thunderous drumbeats of their own hearts. Already, the voices drifted away, volume lower and lower as they left. Alone, safe… for now.

"Should we behave?" his whisper.

 _Only in his imagination, yet he knew for certain it was there, her responding scowl surged him with lust, mischievous and challenging._

"You are wicked, husband, suggesting such a thing after giving me a taste," her voice in his ear, but her hand so much lower.

Down over, into, _**on**_ , his flesh… The plummet with her gripping him, firmly… crushing. His teeth grit tight, fighting the fall. Her last words… " _giving her a taste_ ," and his mind flung it at him, the image, the sensation, of her mouth, her warm, succulent mouth, taking him.

Swallowing, losing his self-control to the void dropping away beneath him, he teased her, breathlessly, "You did choose his very place to try to nickname me Wilyummy."

Her giggle rising up in the blackness, as she settled on her knees.

He felt her breath on him as she said it, "You, of all people, William Murdoch, must worry someone will come in, wanting something to eat, and we'd surely be heard…"

"We?!" he questioned, his head falling back into the secret passageway wall with a thud. Oh, how he tried to sound in control. He chuckled, then scolded, "I believe the evidence we have accrued, from the noise complaints at the hotel, and Charlie the parrot, indicates clearly that it is not "us" who is so noisy…"

Evil, she took him in her mouth… And it was William Murdoch who moaned loudly, risking it all. Rocking him closer and closer to the edge of his tolerance, Julia would save the best for last. In the darkness, touch and sound the guides, she stood, slithered in between him and the wall, turning him to her with the gentle, needy wave.

"I want you," her voice in his ear.

 _Oh, she would have him_ … urgent, pounding, tidal – the force with which he drove into her. William covered her mouth as she imploded, saving them from being discovered, and he finished the steamy, gooey eruption inside of her, exploding into her core, cascading through every single inch of her, he loved her with every rippling ounce of himself.

 **{A ruckus from outside…}**

The arrival of a new guest, one who was quite late, drew much attention. The woman in charge, Margaret Brackenreid, demanded the "bride and groom" be found immediately. There was much excitement in the air.

Covertly out of sight, the couple rushed to redress. William took the lead, in the dark, back through the narrow passageway, to where the ladder led up to the second floor… or down to the basement. Suspecting the hunt for them would have led, at least someone, upstairs on the search, they chose down. Once in the light of William's workroom, Julia paused asking him about the state of her hair, then adjusted his bowtie, and the happy couple rejoined the party, innocently emerging from the basement. Meeting the Inspector, they told a story about William wanting to share an invention idea with her as cause for their absence. It was unclear as to whether their tale was accepted or rejected. No time, either way, as there was quite a rush.

Under orders from Margaret Brackenreid, all the guests had flooded into the party tent to be entertained by a thrilling surprise. Seeing that the couple had finally been located, she shot daggers at her husband for taking so long, and took the microphone. "Your attention please," she started, "Madam Celeste, Toronto's most famous psychic and astrologist, has been employed for the detective and the doctor… as an Anniversary gift… from the legendary Madge Merton!" Madam Celeste stood up and raised her arm, a few weathered papers, star maps, clutched to her chest, and the tent broke into wild applause.

Julia leaned close to her husband and said over the noise, "More like a _**spy**_ from Madge Merton."

He chuckled. _Yet… she had a point._

Margaret continued, "She has prepared the birth charts for William and Julia, and we will be endowed with her findings, for Madam Celeste has come _here_ to reveal her reading to us all!" the woman's voice lifted with the news as she gave into her glee. _My goodness, what a coup!_

Having found their children with Claire-Marie, and many other of their young friends as well, across the room, William nudged his wife, and they shared a worried look. It appeared _everyone_ would hear the psychic's telling of their fortunes. "Perhaps we can suggest it's past their bedtimes and we need to put them to bed first?" he asked her.

 _Too late…_

Dressed in her elaborate muumuu, Madam Celeste took the center of the dancefloor and the microphone. Eying a decorative chest back at her seat, seated next to it, an assistant, she introduced herself and her profession to the crowd. "I have brought many of my reference books and star maps, so please come see me after my reading of the Murdoch's fortune to learn your own astrological foretelling…"

William noticed two other of the Madam's "assistants" moving about through the crowd of onlookers, figuring they were likely in search of ' _clues'_ to use in the Madam's later readings. Multiple memories took their course in his mind, conflicting with his rational suspicions. First, _Madam Pensall, and his cheating her foretelling of his death, surviving an arrow in the chest… Then, the psychic from the circus, laying out and reading her Tarot Cards, predicting his ultimately having the woman he loved after losing her, but only after he had suffered great sacrifice. All of this, not to mention his own 'seeing the future,' and in it his being with Julia, as his wife_ _ **and the mother of his child**_ _– TWICE, for besides Professor Harm's Time Machine, he had also remembered his own vision when picturing his finally making it to Alberta to partake in the venture of dinosaur hunting with receiving Julia's Anniversary gift._

His attention pulled back, the madam now addressing the happy couple directly, he worked to catch up with what he had missed.

"I'm told that both the doctor and the detective are of scientific minds, and may not take my readings to heart. Is this so?" Madam Celeste asked. The floor creaked as all weight, and eyes, shifted to gaze upon William and Julia.

Gratefully, Julia fielded the question. "I believe William and myself to be of open minds," she encouraged, turning to receive a willing, but slightly lost, nod from her husband.

"Well, of that I am glad… though your charts do suggest the same," the larger-than-life woman responded. Returning to the show at hand, she said, "Now, for any of you other skeptics out there, I would like to have you consider that our Moon pulls the tides of the world's vast oceans, and as you are made almost entirely of water, I ague that you too are influenced by the celestial sphere." With that, the psychic and astrologer informed the crowd, _all seemingly on the edges of their seats,_ that she had been following the intriguing lives of Dr. Julia Ogden and Detective William Murdoch with great interest since they had first become famous as a couple with their public declarations of love for each other during Dr. Ogden's murder trial.

She elaborated based on what she had learned from the stars, "I have determined that their love is rare – It's chemical, electrical, gravitational, mathematical, mythological… it's magical. This astrological pair is not commonly bonded in love relationships, Cancer and Sagittarius, so these two defy the odds. As to their origins, such a love would never have come to be unless the Sagittarius partner, Julia in this pairing, had been willing to slow down and wait for her Cancer partner, William, to decide how it was he actually felt…"

The room exploded into laughter.

Ellie Masterson's voice insisted, "It took years, and years, and years, until they finally married."

Henry Higgins called out, adding, "And yet, Detective Murdoch's truthama… thing-a-majiggy told of his love quite early on!" It was Inspector Brackenreid, himself quite the showman, who told this story to the crowd, complete with the significance of the rising of the blue liquid in the winding glass tube happening exactly with Higgins' question about if the detective was in love – all in the presence of the lovely Dr. Ogden, he made sure everyone knew.

It was beginning to appear that this might be quite a long night. William put his arm around his wife, and she heard him sigh. She slipped her hand around the back of his waist and gave him a squeeze. _Truth be told, she was having a blast!_

Madam Celeste went on, "In return for his slow uptake, our Cancer man, William…"

 _He felt the eyes in the room turn and, pressure rising, focus on him…_

No stopping her, the Madam continued, "He would have had to take a leap of faith, and jump into a relationship that offered no security…"

Julia stopped the show with a gasp, turning to William she declared, "The hot air balloon, William!" She said to the crowd, "He jumped into my hot air balloon, when we… reunited!"

Surprisingly, William disclosed, adding, "Well, that first time."

The room fell into a tinkling of wine glasses demanding a kiss. William Jr. and Katie quickly caught onto the game and grabbed for nearby forks and spoons to tap away on Claire-Marie's glass, joining in on the fun.

With everyone watching, William wrinkled his mouth at his wife, apologizing… thinking, " _I don't mind if I do_ ," and then he obliged to the popular demand, first cherishing her beautiful face with his hands, then tilting his head, brown eyes closing behind those long, long lashes, _and she lost her breath and closed her eyes anticipating the dizziness,_ and he leaned slowly, soaring the room when his lips touched hers, tender, and slow, and smooth, his breath before he released her, to receive more applause.

 _There had been more reunions for this couple as time had gone by. Perhaps the most well-known being on the Eve of the New Century, with sultry photos of their adulterous kisses plastered all over the newspapers, complete with magically cascading fireworks above their heads and, presumably, stars in their eyes. Such events crossed the minds of many in the room._

"On that note," the Madam pulled the group back together, "the stars predict that, unlike the odds of their falling in love, the odds of their sex life being outstanding are quite high…" The risqué comment drawing shocked, but teasing, "Ooh's" and "Oh my's" from the crowd.

Margaret Brackenreid called out, "Hear, Hear. Remember the detective's love letter – at the doctor's Baby Shower… and his meteorological theory of lovemaking – filled with poetry describing their warm fronts lasting hours, and their thunderous, electrified cold fronts. Remember Margaret?" she asked, propping her head up, leaning and searching the crowd to find Margaret Hale.

Mrs. Hale raised her glass in the air and replied, "Well there was that." The crowd fell into an excited din.

Catching the wave of enthusiasm, Madam Celeste's voice seized the room once more, "Again, none of this is surprising to me, for the sexual aspect for these two is predictably _**steamy**_ …" _My, the woman knew how to put on a show, exaggerating the insinuation of word, "steamy," with a raised brow and a flail of the arm in the air._ She explained, "For her fire mixes with his water, creating astounding heat, and humidity, sometimes the swirling only leading to airy breezes, but others, to turbulent, roaring winds, that whip up into, what could only be, lovely, hearty warm rains, sprinkled with occasional, ferociously colossal, thunderstorms. But…" she paused dramatically until she was certain the room held its breath, "They must be careful, for he could drown her with his water and extinguish her flame, should he become too strong, and she, in the same way, could evaporate his essence into oblivion with her fire, if she became too powerful. It is the balance that holds the key to their unique and profound charge."

Glancing over at the faces of their children, Julia was taken with the glow, the fascination, in their expressions. " _How much could they possibly understand of this?"_ she wondered.

The show went on. "If trust between them is reached, and true emotions are shared, the Sagittarius partner will become a spice to their sex life, while Cancer, being a sign that exalts her Jupiter, will make his partner feel special. The only way their relationship can endure, however, is for Cancer to let go of his preconceptions and allow for her change and fun to enter their, what would naturally be – if left to him, rigid and strict sex zone."

Interestingly, nearly every adult in the room that knew this couple well could be seen nodding their heads. Suddenly, William felt completely exposed. He blushed. And then he prayed that no one noticed that he had done so. _It was getting so very, very hot in here…_

Still more, the Madam changed subjects, now away from sex, Julia heard William release a sigh of relief and she giggled out loud. He leaned down to her and whispered, "You are enjoying this way too much, Mrs. Murdoch."

"Am I?" she retorted with eyebrow raised.

 _He felt it land in his groin somehow, with delicious threat._

Center stage, the tale continued, "Intellectually, they a perfect match, star-aligned perfection exponentially magnified by the fact that they share their passion for their work together as professionals, adding to the natural fact that both of them are deeply curious about the world – the universe – around them."

On the down side, Madam Celeste shared what she saw to be their biggest issue, telling, "Although the Cancer man will love his Jupiter woman very much, emotions make it impossible for him to understand the flirty ease with which she interacts with… well, truthfully, everyone around them. Not only will this disturb our Cancer man's trust, but it will also affect the trust our Sagittarius woman has in his being able to understand her. Thus, it is his jealousy, that could be the source of many conflicts and misunderstandings between them…"

Feeling the room studying them, remembering so many of their heated arguments being linked to this very… issue, particularly as of late, both William and Julia froze in the limelight. Their ears buzzed, time ticked away so astoundingly slowly. Waiting, waiting, the crowd for their reaction, them for the pressure to come off…

Madame Celeste broke the spell, for she did not lack in compassion. "Remember," she drew everyone's eyes to her, "He is Cancer – water, she Fire! Interesting, is it not, that they have each saved the other from the worst and most dangerous aspects to themselves…"

 _As Madam Celeste told the next part of her fortunes, most every hair on the back of most every neck stood up with the static energy, the aura, of the remarkable coincidence of it all. She knew, and reminded them all of what they knew too, of the amazing history between these two._

"Julia Ogden's fire, a forceful and life-giving flame which could instantly be extinguished by his water, our Sagittarius woman dove into submergence within that very, and soul endangering, substance, swimming in the belly of a sinking ship, to save him from drowning…"

 _The awe of it seemed to draw the breath out of the room._

The psychic's mystical voice pushed on, "William Murdoch, water the very core of his celestial being, his Sun sign, water, which could, in one sizzling moment, be vaporized away into thin air by the burning heat of fire, running, without hesitation, into the blazing flames of the fire of 1904 to find her, and carry her out to safety, saving her from a horrible death. The irony of it is astounding is it not? Julia, made of fire almost dies in fire, only to be saved by him confronting the one thing in the world that most threatens his water nature – fire. And, matching that, for balance is the crux of their connection… William, made of water almost dies in water, only to be saved by her confronting the one thing in the world that most threatens her fire nature – water."

 _Faces turned to examine those of others. "Were they, too, as amazed?"_

"But birth charts tell us much more, for the power of the Sun is nearly rivaled by that of the Moon," she whispered into the microphone, at once chilling and thrilling the room. "Thus, there is more…" Madam Celeste stood quietly while people shushed each other, and settled down to listen intently once again. She understood the need to discharge some of the pent-up energy. She was patient. She waited.

"The Moon locations on their birthdates… Well, I'm not surprised, for with this couple the signs are remarkably balanced, and at the same time they also perfectly fill in all of the aspects that are possible in the world. Julia's Moon in an Earth sign…"

She stopped there. Suddenly her voice was human, less all-knowing, as she asked, "Anyone remember the other, **big, life-threatening event** , that happened to Julia Ogden, besides almost being hung – which one could argue was Air, for it involved falling through air to your death, and it was her fated lover, William, who saved her then too … But, this time it was Earth, and it was once again, William Murdoch who saved her then as well?"

George, astonished, declared to the crowd, "Gillies buried her alive… under the Earth!"

And the crowd surged into a murmur with their own rememberings of the horrifying tale.

Soon adding spice to their rampant thoughts, Madam Celeste awed, "Once again, the very thing that was her Moon essence – Earth – nearly ended her, and once again, as you will see, this same Earth substance is the one thing that most threatens William's Moon essence. For William's Moon sign is Air. And air is most threatened by the densest of substances – Earth. William used his every resource to find her in that grave, and dig her out, returning her to the one thing she needed after being buried under the Earth, the one thing that was his Moon essence – Air."

A deep breath, she allowed a lull. She had not invited it, but had predicted it. The crowd began the quest for it, the time Julia had saved William from Air.

Standing together, William and Julia were stunned. People near them turned and asked them if it were true… had Julia saved him from the air? Dumbfounded, searching, they looked to each other, feeling once again the eyes of the crowd focus in.

It was William who answered this time. Shaking his head, on some level sorry to burst Madam Celeste's bubble. He looked back to his wife. "No," he said. His big, brown eyes back to those of Madam Celeste, he added, "I have been threatened by air…" William began to catch different faces in the crowd.

James Pendrick stepped forward. "Yes, Murdoch," he said.

And the crowd wanted nothing more than to talk, but if they did they would miss it!

"I must say, I think it is Murdoch who saved us both from the air… once," he elaborated, "When he rescued me from my captives and flew my plane…" He found Murdoch's eyes to tease, "Almost into the cliffs of Niagara Falls, I might add, before landing us safely on the ground." Pendrick took a deep breath and walked over to the couple. Then he announced the other time, "And then, well the second time I think it was me who saved him, when we jumped from a hot air balloon and flew down to the Earth in my specially designed suits." Having a flair for the dramatic himself, Pendrick stepped to the center once again and concluded, "Yes, if anything, it was I… who saved Murdoch from the air."

Madam Celeste, however, had the final word… And the microphone. The tone of her voice alone convinced that all mysteries are true, as she said, "It is called ' _fortune telling'_ _**not**_ solely because of what it explains from the past. It also foretells the future. For my prediction, I lay down here in front of many eyes, that Julia Ogden will save this man, her one and only, predestined lover, William Murdoch, one more time before their lives are through. And she will save him from Air, and bring him to rest safely once more on the one thing her Moon has in abundance – Earth. And there I finish my fortunetelling, leaving you with a deeper understanding of your good friends, Detective William Murdoch and his wife Dr. Julia Ogden, for you grasp it with a certainty that you feel down in your very bones, made from _**stardust**_ after all, that theirs is truly _**a match made in heaven**_." With that the madam stepped back, seeming to disappear into the crowd.

Taking a moment to recover, Julia soon turned to William lifting her eyebrows high with astonished delight. "Oh my," she exclaimed, and then tucked her arm into his and grew a sly grin. "I guess you most definitely have a good reason to have married me after all, detective."

He chuckled and agreed, "Most definitely… Actually, quite a few."

An assistant of Madam Celeste's took the microphone and called for Margaret Brackenreid. Together, they organized astrology readings for all, to be held there in the tent, setting aside dancing for the time being. Based on the long lines and the enlivened conversation, Madame Celeste had made quite an impression. Everyone, it seemed, wanted to hear their fortunes, to learn from the stars.

Guests who had brought children were accommodated by being placed first in line, so they could sooner take their leave. William and Julia agreed that the time had come for their children to go to bed, and the battle ensued in getting William Jr. and Katie to go. Chelsea had fallen off to sleep long ago, cuddly and comfy in her pram which Claire-Marie had brought down hours ago, once she had recognized how long the night was going to be.

It was William who took charge of being the bearer of bad news, not taking no for an answer, and convincing the children into accepting their past-bedtime fate. Julia thanked him profusely, grateful to be able to continue engaging with the evocative show of each of their guests learning of their astrological fortunes.

) (

Upstairs, William sat next to William Jr., tucking him into bed. Compassionate for his grumpy young son, he told him he understood it would be hard to sleep knowing about all the fun and excitement going on with the adults, downstairs, but he wanted him to be a good boy and try.

William Jr.'s eyes so big and opened, the child asked, "Are you really water, Daddy… And Mommy is fire?

His father sighed. He would need a moment to respond. "Son, all of those things Madame Celeste said, they were just a big story… like a fairytale," he explained.

"So it was made up? You didn't really run into a fire and save Mommy?" William Jr. asked.

A slight frown grew on William's face, for it would be more complicated than he had originally thought. "William," he addressed his son more maturely, "Any good story has to have elements of truth in it…"

The youngster waited. He was listening, but his mind was running ahead, and now he wanted to know all the other parts of Madame Celeste's story that were really true too!

Excited, William Jr. sat up and asked, "And Mommy saved you from drowning inside a sinking ship?!"

Smiling, himself accepting the wonder of their story for a moment, William smiled and said, "Yes. Yes, she did. Now, little man, we will have to finish up all these questions tomorrow. It's very late, and you must try to sleep." William watched as William Jr. slipped back down onto his pillow. He would try. He had such a good heart, and William's heart burst open with love for the boy…

"Come here," he said, opening his arms and asking his son for a hug.

William Jr. flung himself into his Daddy's arms, and squeezed him tight with all his might. "I love Daddy," he said.

"I love you too," his father replied.

) (

By the time William had finished tucking their three children into bed and had made it back downstairs, Madame Celeste's show had finished. The dancing was exuberant, now the center of everyone's attention. He stepped into the tent and soaked in the scene. People were having a good time. The Anniversary Party was a success. William perused the crowd for his wife.

Such a muddle of feelings flooded through him upon finding her… on the dancefloor… in the arms of James Pendrick. His body, stuck between puffing up with jealousy, a twitch in his jaw the curl of his fists, versus sinking down with disappointment, or stepping back to be rational about the whole thing, or stepping up to admit it hurt him, he stood there frozen, staring.

It surprised him, the comfort he felt as the Inspector joined him at his side. Inspector Brackenreid had already taken note of the doctor and Pendrick walking onto the dancefloor together, and had been keeping an eye out for Murdoch. Extending a glass of water, Murdoch nodded his thanks and took a sip. An obsessive urge drew his eyes back to his wife.

"That Astrology stuff is all Bollocks, if you ask me, but… Well, Murdoch, some of the things Madame Celeste said were, um… Bloody Hell, me old mucker, I mean… _**Steamy**_ , she called it, she called _**YOU - steamy**_ , now I can see with the good doctor… but then, well, _you yourself said_ you two do it twice a day. And that's…"

The Inspector's timing for his bold and racy comment was inopportune, William having, just that second, taken a sip of his water, thus, he had exploded into a robust coughing fit. His face, bright red, his eyes teared with the choking, he scratched out, " _ **I said**_ , sir?" raising an eyebrow at his boss.

Indignant, the Inspector answered, "Yes…" _His mind replayed the scene – Murdoch bare-chested and in his bed, drugged, and just recovered from having had his blood drained, the man slapping his hand down on the bed and telling in a drunken stupor, "Twice a day, sir, morning and night, I tuck her underneath me and I… um…"_

Finding it hard not to smile with the memory, Inspector Brackenreid went on, "Yes Murdoch, _**YOU**_ said that you and the doctor _did it_ morning and night, in your bed, or against the wall… or in the shower…"

Aghast, Murdoch was unable to speak. _Could his memory of the events that had unfolded that night be that far gone?_ He wondered.

"Don't deny it, Murdoch. You told me yourself," the Inspector insisted, "Besides, my point is that you can't let all this jealousy stuff get to you, like Madam Celeste said, it's in your wife's nature… and what counts is that she loves only you. I know it, you know it, bloody hell, even Pendrick there knows it. Remember, me old mucker, she will be _**underneath you**_ tonight," he poked Murdoch's chest, "no other bloke here, so don't let it irk you."

His words held some reassurance for William. The detective released a big sigh, through pursed lips, working to let out the pressure. His eyes turned back to his wife and Pendrick, he thanked the Inspector, wrinkling his face, for he still held some doubts.

The Inspector's mind moved from the detective's bedroom to his own. He leaned much closer, and whispered, "Listen, um Murdoch… Margaret has been asking me about these "weather-front things" she says you… well, from back when she organized Dr. Ogden's Baby Shower…"

Murdoch's eyes jerked to meet his, a sort of panic in them…

Now it was the Inspector that wrinkled his face, unsure. "Do you know anything about that?" he asked.

Stammering, his face as crimson a color as Brackenreid believed he had ever seen on the man, William fumbled his reply, "I, uh… well, err, um… No sir…"

Suddenly standing at the detective's side, Pendrick now off the dancefloor, both men turned when he cleared his throat. Looking the detective firmly in the eye he said nonchalantly, "Hope you don't mind, Murdoch. I danced with your wife."

The Inspector's mind ran a mile a minute… Murdoch's froze solid.

"Bollocks," the Inspector cursed under his breath.

William stood up as tall as he could. "Julia's her own woman," he replied.

Satisfied, Pendrick said, "You know Murdoch, I think you might be able help me with a problem I've been having… with my airplane shipping business. There's a cargo drop design…"

The topic instantly reignited their friendship, it seemed. The two men rushed off to use Murdoch's drawing board down in his workroom.

A while later, Julia came by looking for her husband. Spotting the Inspector sitting alone in a corner she wondered if he had seen William.

"Doctor," the man greeted, "share a drink?"

Julia being Julia, and these two having a history of drinking together under adverse circumstances, she found she was feeling tempted. "I shouldn't," she finally seemed to decide. "I've had a bit too much," she added, holding up her hand and trying to minimize how much she had already drank by showing a mere inch between them.

Surging ahead with his meddling, himself drunk enough to not hear his own internal objections, the Inspector asked, "Is that why you danced with Pendrick?"

The question slammed into her hard, racing her heart into a panic. Julia took a dep breath, making at recovering and yielded, "Perhaps, I will." She sat next to him and he topped off his glass of whisky, passing it her way.

 _Oh, how she loved the feel of the warm burn as whisky went down_. Retaking control of the situation, Julia said, "I think I should warn you Inspector, Margaret has been… indulging on chocolate liquor and," she giggled and passed the glass back to him, "she says she wants a warm front from her husband tonight."

A frown took Thomas' face. Bollocks!" he cursed and chugged a good swallow. "Your husband was too embarrassed, too… Murdoch-like, to fill me in on those." The Inspector's blue eyes held hers sincerely. "Perhaps, maybe… you could?" he bravely asked.

The good doctor gave him some of the main points of William's meteorological theory of lovemaking, but not without multiple moments of shared shock and glee.

Unavoidably, the subject of her dancing with Pendrick came back up. "He saw you, you know, the two of you," the Inspector told her.

"William?" she asked, her concern blatant.

"You have to be careful with him, you know," the Inspector's fatherly air took over, "I know that fortunetelling malarkey, well, it's all shite, but think about what Madam Celeste said. Everybody has something that pushes their buttons, for Murdoch, well… I don't know if he…"

Blurting it out, Julia explained, "I wanted to make sure what I told William… about, um…"

The Inspector filled in the words she struggled with, "The time the man kissed you?"

 _Her eyes showed her surprise, that he knew about it, and then relief, for William must have shared it with him, and that meant, in the end, that they were not so alone._

Julia reached for the glass and took a swig. "James Pendrick said he didn't remember anything from when he drank his potion that last time. He didn't even remember that I was there," Julia fought the urge to shriek.

"Well, I suppose that's good," the Inspector replied.

Julia was overrun with emotion. "I love him so much, Inspector. I really, really do… so much it terrifies me sometimes," she declared, tears pooling in her eyes. She sighed and admitted, pulling back, "Perhaps I have had too much to drink."

Thomas Brackenreid agreed that the good doctor likely had over-imbibed, yet he felt, in his heart, that her declarations were undeniably true, for from everything he had observed of their relationship, her love for Murdoch, his love for her, was profound, beyond normal. Deciding the subject was done with, he said, "He and Pendrick appeared to be good buddies again, to tell you the truth. The two of them all wound-up about some airplane thingamajig. They went down to Murdoch's workroom… needed to use his drawing board."

) (

It was not just relief that Julia enjoyed as she stood at William's workroom door watching the two men in temporary secret, it was happiness for her husband as well. She had always thought James Pendrick could be a good friend to William. Curious, she studied the chalk drawing on the blackboard. Knowing William's style, she could tell James had drawn it, at least for the most part. It was a plan for something that was housed in the belly of an airplane. It consisted of a small semi-inflated balloon – the balloon part resting partially opened against the plane ceiling, its ropes ran down and attached to a, platform-like, basket on the plane floor. The chalk drawing suggested that there were two flaps in the plane floor that could be opened, dropping the whole balloon thing into the sky.

Pendrick's brow wrinkled with stress, as he demanded, "Yes, yes. All very well and good Murdoch, but how to we get the damned thing to open?"

 _Julia felt her heart surge with white-hot heat. William was so excited, so confident, so absolutely beautiful… his gorgeous eyes twinkling with delight, he answered…_

"The pilot has to deploy it… so there will need to be a handle up here near his seat. You can run the mechanism back under the floor of the plane, from the handle to the hinges. The pilot pushes the handle back, the long, thin rod under the floor rotates and drops the lock on the hinges, opening the cargo balloon!" William turned back to James, anticipating.

"I think it will work!" he declared. Both men stepped back to examine the plan. Satisfied, but not yet done, James asked, "Now, how much weight can it handle, and how much altitude does it need?"

From behind them, Julia stepped in, drawing their eyes. She teased casually, "So, the deadly duo is back together."

William took her literally, as he often did. "Oh, Julia," he greeted, "It's not really _deadly_. Mr. Pendrick," he corrected himself, "James, is planning to use it in his shipping company. It allows for dropping cargo without landing the plane," his face beamed at her.

"I see," she said, stepping close to him and kissing his cheek.

After the two inventors had described every minute detail of James' innovation, and how William had helped with it, Julia took a deep breath, and William's face immediately showed his dread. _She was going to bring up "_ _ **the kiss**_ _" – he just knew it!_

Once _James_ had been told of his actions that day, while he had been under the influence of his potion and embodying the persona of _the Lurker_ , he, too, felt how awkward everything was now between them. Working to make amends, he said, "Honestly, I remember none of it. Yet, I must admit that… well it seems Murdoch, err William…" he turned to Murdoch and continued, clearing his throat, "we… err, seem to have similar tastes in women, and I will not deny that I find Julia…" James considered turning to tell this to Julia directly, but the degree of discomfort he anticipated with doing so was too overwhelming. He went on, "your wife… to be quite attractive." Finding his courage, and confident that what it was that he was about to say was the truth, _and would do the trick_ , he finished, "But I know you have had much better luck than me, my friend, and the two of you have found the perfect match…" James placed his hand on his heart to emphasize his sincerity, and the power of what he felt, as he concluded, "And I love you, Murdoch. And I would never do anything to hurt you if I could help it. And I'm sorry." James finally faced Julia and added, "To you too, doctor."

Now that the repair was made, Julia asked William to come dance with her before the night was through.

) (

The dancefloor was back in full swing, as William and Julia stepped back into the noisy party tent. From where she was dancing with her husband, Margaret noticed that the happy Murdoch's had finally come back.

Wishing he could whisper, but the music and din of the crowd too loud, William put his arm around Julia's shoulders and pulled her closer. Into her ear, he said what was on his mind. "It's Interesting… What he had found impossible not to fixate on. "I was thinking, Pendrick… James, not remembering anything he did when he had been under the influence of his potion…"

"Mm," she answered.

He asked, "Julia, I wonder if, like him, well if the drug used on me was similar somehow… chemically? Do you still have my blood sample…? I mean even though Meyers closed the case…"

Julia answered him, clarifying, "You mean, did I keep the evidence even after he closed the case… after he told us that the perpetrator was dead?"

Feeling exposed, helpless over his obsession with not being able to remember what had happened to him when he was abducted, William wrinkled a corner of his mouth with the admission.

Julia knew him so well, instinctively grasping that he was embarrassed by his lack of self-control. She wanted so very much to ease his suffering.

"Of course, you would wonder, William," she offered, gently placing her hand to his cheek, "I'll talk to James tomorrow… Ask what would be the best marker to look for."

He took a deep breath, then turned back to watch the dancing. Nudging Julia, gesturing towards a new couple going by on the dancefloor, he said, "Look at George…"

George Crabtree was taking a turn on the dancefloor with Freddie Pink!

Julia bounced with surprise. "Now there's a match that might work," she suggested, happily.

Shaking his head, William replied, "Oh, I don't think so, Julia. Freddie is much too serious for a man like George… and all his hair-brained ideas."

With a scoff, Julia stepped back and gave her husband a playful push. "William, you must be the most serious man I know, and you get along splendidly with George," she argued.

William wrinkled his face, considering it. _He had to acknowledge that he did have strong ties with George, daft ideas and all…_

 **Unexpectedly, it seemed the whole, entire, room gasped…**

" _Where did Margaret Brackenreid get a spotlight?_ " the first question that shot through Julia's mind…

Mrs. Brackenreid, breathless with excitement, announced the final dance for the evening. "With the return of the happy couple, William and Julia, we'd like to celebrate the remarkable union of Detective William Murdoch and his wife, Dr. Julia Ogden… with the last dance."

The crowd parted, making way for the doctor and the detective to take the floor.

Blinded by the bright light in their eyes, the sound of the phonograph needle landing on the record adding to the static charge in the air, William offered her his arm to his wife, and they stepped onto the dancefloor. Before they began, their eyes mingled, centering with each other. William nodded, took a deep breath, and she stepped into his arms. One by one, were aware of other couples joining them, off on their periphery. They were happy, deeply happy. Their sweeping motion intoxicating, they glided along enjoying every minute of it.

Unexpectedly, Julia's giggle rippled through the air.

William's lovely voice in her ear, he professed, "Not exactly the reaction I had hoped for," his comment only making her laugh more.

"Do you remember our first dance?" she tried to explain.

His mind replayed it, him responding quickly "Yes," _as he saw them in his mind at the Dinosaur Ball, starry-eyed with love for each other and excitement for the event itself. She had looked breathtaking, wearing a stunning, and sumptuously low-cut, sparkly blue dress, and he knew he would probably never be happier in all his life…_

Recognizing that William was not sharing in the same memory she had meant, for the impetus of her question had only ascended their dance into a floatier step, she pushed at him. "William," her tantalizing tone hinting at the jolt of humility he was about to feel, "I meant the _**FIRST**_ time we danced together," her words demanding he think back further.

It hit like a rock, the memory so physical it threw off his rhythm, and they stalled there in the middle of the dancefloor, after William's falter.

" _Oh, he remembers it alright,_ " her mind twinkled with glee, as she worked to recover her own balance from the stumble.

 _The FIRST time was at Professor Otranto's dance studio. William had been so incredibly STIFF!_ Julia giggled again, pausing their dance in the middle of the floor, to imitate for William, the way he had shoved his back straight and extended one arm out like a tree-branch, the other bent with all the welcoming of a sheep-hook. _Merely one step into their first dance, he had stepped on her toe, and fallen forward, and lacking all gallantry, he had relied upon squeezing hold of her buttocks to keep them from falling. Oh, truth be told, it was beyond hysterical, and it would be a very long time until Julia stopped laughing about it._

 _Oh, how joy filled her heart to the brim, and then overflowed it,_ when he finally yielded, and William laughed too. Their eyes caught, for a moment.

It was then that the sparkly tinkling sound grew into a symphony of crystal clinking all around them, silverware tapping glass, sparking thrill deep inside of them. They held their gaze, admiring each other, recognizing each other, connecting with each other, sinking into each other, aware of world around them, and yet wholly subsumed in their fusing. His lips met hers, steamy moist heat, and the tinkling soared higher, erupting into a roar of cheers and applause. Supported and adored by all they held dear, the detective and the doctor treasured the moment, let it seep deeply into their stardust bones, for they were fortunate, they knew it, and tonight was truly a wonderful _Anniversary gift_ from all.


	9. 9: Shooting Stars vs Falling Stars

Back to the Drawing Board_9_Shooting Stars vs Falling Stars

) (

" _My God, that was good_ ," William's mind repeated it again as he rolled off of, slipped out of, his wife, and plopped down onto his pillow, exhausted and glorious, basking in the remaining warm, tingly waves rippling through his every inch.

"You seem quite winded, detective," Julia, herself out of breath, her body still blazing from absorbing the impact of their love, teased him.

"Worth it," came his breathless reply.

Such a big smile, she agreed, "That it was, detective." Then the sly appearance of a devilish grin, she added, "Perhaps I will need to perform mouth-on-mouth resuscitation to save you once more."

He raised an eyebrow at her, charming her with his sideways glance and repressing a smile, "Are you suggesting canoodling?" he poked at her, reminding of Inspector Brackenreid's interpretation of the original event on the sinking ship.

 _She was always up for a little canoodling with William Murdoch, and her brain entertained the idea of teasing him some more, about them not being able to imbibe further because he was so… spent, from all his 'efforts' just now. Yet, another idea emerged, in the wake of the memory of saving him from drowning on the ship… and then of Madame Celeste telling their fortunes._ She nestled down beside him, then slipped her long, supple leg over his skin to end up half over him, and laid her head down on his chest. His heartbeat still rushed and strong in her ear, she allowed her fingers to explore his flesh.

So lovely, his fingers through her hair.

Her warm dampness huddled against the bare skin of his upper thigh stirred him, intrigued him, with his own reaction. _She was his_.

"William," the lilt in her voice suggested a question was coming for him to consider, "I think that perhaps Madame Celeste was right…" Julia lifted up off of his chest to find his eyes, "But she was not predicting the future… I had already saved you with Air!" she beamed. Hurrying to explain, she announced, "When I performed mouth-on-mouth resuscitation on you! I breathed _AIR_ into you William?"

 _(Fate's response would go unheard by them, however two things were true, Julia had forgotten that the foretelling was that she was to save William from death_ **by** _air, not from death_ **with** _air, and further, there would come a time, not so very far from now, for years are a mere blip of time for the stars, when she would take to the air in a hot air balloon, the skills needed to fly such a monster rare, and yet, within her grasp, and would rush ahead of him to light the night-sky ahead of his galloping horse, making his way through the danger clear.)_

His eyebrow up at her, he rebuked, "Julia Ogden, tell me you do _**not**_ believe in astrological forecasts?"

Mouth dropping agape, she would show him his hypocrisy. "Says the man who maintains that he sensed, from _before_ he had even met me, that there was a woman out there who was _meant for him_ , AND, from the moment that we met, he claims that he _**knew**_ _I was the one_ … AND, this same man told me that he _ **SAW**_ us… married… and with a son, in the future… in the future, William."

 _They both knew that, truth be told, they were of two minds on the subject, for science was their way of understanding the world, albeit William had somehow come to counterbalance this with his Catholic faith, and it was undebatable that astrology was wholly unfounded, yet there was a… feeling… somehow, somewhere, that dwelled in the hidden pockets of their beliefs._

William yielded to her argument, "Well, perhaps you're right then."

Satisfied, she settled back down on top of him.

A few moments later, unsure, William wrinkled a corner of his mouth, and offered, "Perhaps we shouldn't take Mr. Pendr… err, James, up on his offer to go flying?"

) (

Detective Murdoch appeared on the 16th green, predictably mounted on his bicycle. Swinging his leg over the back of the bike while it still glided over the grass, he barely touched ground before asking, "What have we, George?"

For George Crabtree, this golf course brought back disturbing memories of running into the annoying Roger Newsome once more, prompting George's own voice to play in his head as he remembered telling the detective back then, " _I hate the way he acts, and the way he speaks and the way he laughs. I hate his little bow tie and his stupid face_ …" and George's jaw gritted tight with his seething from the memory, _only to be smoldered with his… guilt – guilt? Was he feeling_ guilty _about Roger Newsome's death?_ The detective's voice saved him from his wanderings.

"Well George, at least this time it's not _**you**_ in the germy pond water, in your skivvies," he teased, as he looked out into the pond at the two constables, each chest deep in the water, searching for clues that may have sunk to the mucky bottom.

Focusing back on work, George filled the detective in on what they had ascertained thus far on the case. "As you can see sir, the body was found in the pond. Um, by a Mr. Carlie, sir. Now as I remember, you found it hard to believe that a grown man would throw his perfectly good golf clubs into this pond, but that is exactly what Mr. Carlie claims he was doing at the time. He said he heard the " _splash_ " wrong, and knew there was something under the surface. He said he watched as the back of the man's shirt sort of ballooned and puffed up to the surface," George demonstrated the rising and expanding motions with his hands.

Needing a deep breath, for William had been confronting his old golfing demons, the detective said, "It sounds like this was not the first time he…"

"Oh no, sir. Mr. Carlie is known to throw such temper tantrums regularly," George interrupted.

"Making him familiar with the sound of the club landing in the water," the detective finished his statement.

From behind them, Dr. Ogden had arrived. "My, my," her voice turned the two men, _William instantly becoming worried that she would poke fun_ , "It seems someone had a case of the yips that went quite a bit farther than usual." As he had expected, she eyed her husband mischievously.

In a rush to change the subject, William asked, "Dr. Ogden, is there anything you would like to see before the men pull the body from the pond?"

George added, "That is the same spot and position the body was in when we first arrived, doctor. It was submerged, but it seems that the man's golf club hitting it caused the body to shift… up, to where it is now."

"I see," she answered. "So, am I to assume that the man had deliberately been throwing his club into the pond… um, when he found the body, then?"

 _William could tell she studied him, clandestinely teased him, out of the corner of her eye as she received George's nod._

The doctor shaded her eyes with her hand and checked the scene. "He's floating in the typical position, face down. I'd say it was less than a few days, since the body hadn't started to float yet on its own…"

"Not sufficient time for the build-up of gasses from the bacteria inside of him," the detective explained.

"Yes, yes, that's right," she agreed. "It's fine with me to _**fish**_ the body out now," she said, deciding not to laugh at her own pun because it was so bad.

The investigation of the area around the pond showed no signs of anyone carrying the body into the water to dump it there, or even that the man himself had walked into the pond, as there were not any footprints in the surrounding mud besides those of Constabulary members. The detective reasoned that this indicated murder, because the man could not have either, killed himself, or 'gone for a swim' and then died in the water, if he did not walk himself into the pond. He began working on possible ways for the body to be deposited in the pond without leaving footprints around it.

George suggested one of those cannons they shoot people out of in the circus. The detective, despite himself, considered it with a wrinkle in the corner of his mouth and then a rub to his brow. His wife laughed, earning herself a dirty look.

Once the body was rolled over, it was determined that he was not a member of the Club, the employees all claiming they had never seen him before. He was noticeably short, about his mid-twenties in age, and appeared to be in excellent health. Dressed as a common man, with no identification on h. There was a set of keys in his pocket.

When asked about probable cause of death, the doctor stated the obvious, for there were no signs of any serious injuries – no bullet or knife wounds, no significant bruising or cuts that could be observed on his face or his hands, no noticeable bumps or contusions to the head. She had speculated it would most likely be drowning, but nothing would be certain until after she had performed the postmortem.

Dr. Ogden sighed and said, "I'm sorry I can't give you more, detective."

Reaching up and rubbing his brow, he admitted that he did not have much to go on. He pulled his lips tight and looked her in the eye, accepting it. "I'll start with his keys… And stop by for your preliminary results."

"Good," she said with a slight nod his way. _Oh, how she wanted to tease him about throwing his golf clubs in this very pond… to the point that her body itched with the desire_. Maintaining their professional roles, she fought it, nodded again and took her leave. _Perhaps she would find a way to pester him about it later…_

Murdoch was about to mount his bicycle and ride back to the clubhouse to take statements, when Dr. Ogden hurried back towards him. "Detective!" she called ahead of herself.

He waited.

"I think you should come see," she said. Knowing this woman as well as he did, he felt an air of excitement. _She believed she had found something that could be a clue_! No one else would be able to tell by her demeanor, for she had regained control as she walked the last few steps towards him, and she was downplaying it now – _he figured she did so because she was trying not to get his hopes up._

George had only gotten a few steps ahead, and, upon hearing the doctor call, had turned back to rejoin the conversation as well.

The detective walking his bike, the three of them headed to the morgue's carriage as Dr. Ogden explained. "I didn't notice it until the body was lying on a flat, solid surface…" She turned to catch William's eye, took a breath – they were carrying a hearty pace. "Well, his torso has an odd shape," she said.

Standing at the rear of the carriage looking in at the body, Dr. Ogden asked for a hand, and then encouraged the detective to join her crouched over alongside the body inside the carriage. "This contour here, you see how unusual it is?" she asked as she gestured with her hand moving over the body from the pelvis towards the chest.

 _He saw it – it was strange…_

"You see how it dips in at the hips and then bulges up along the abdomen," she elaborated.

He turned to face her, curiosity had captured him. "What could cause such a swelling of the abdomen?" he asked.

"It's as if his insides have been shifted around," she marveled. "You know, William, it seems… well, remember that case where the autopsy showed the body's organs had been cooked?"

He nodded, "The microwave death-ray had caused that," he answered. His mind was racing, but he didn't see the connection. _There was something, though…_

Seeing his confusion, Julia quickly explained that she saw nothing in this case to suggest a similar cause of death, it was more the general _oddness_ that had caught her attention. "I just _**don't**_ think this is going to turn out to be your run-of-the-mill drowning, that's all I'm saying, William," she concluded.

He helped her out of the carriage to the ground.

" _My God, he is handsome_ ," she thought, as he tipped his hat to her with a quick nod.

"Good," he said.

She gave him a smile, and then she was off.

) (

Gaining nothing of importance from their interviews at the Golf Club, they were left with the man's keys to consider as their next clue. The constables took the back to the Stationhouse. A warm, gentle rain began to fall as William rode his bicycle alone back to work. Never one to mind the rain, likely due to his earlier lives as a ranch-hand and a lumberjack, he pulled off his trusty homburg, and pedaled forward into the cloudburst, raising his face to receive nature's shower. He felt the water accumulating on his body, gravity sending the crystal-like drops to the edges of each lock of his hair, framing his view with a silvery splattering of reflections of the world, each drop globing itself into a tiny, tiny bead. He took a deep breath. _There was contentment_.

Thoughts fluttered here and there in his head. He giggled to himself, considering Julia's comment about the golfing yips not usually being severe enough to cause one to commit suicide, and then he imagined what it must have looked like _from her perspective_ when someone, particularly someone as collected and in control as himself, had been driven to throw their very own golf clubs into a pond…

His mind tossed it up at him, the feeling that _there was something_ _ **familiar**_ _about the odd shape of the body._ He had seen that strange swelling of the abdomen before… His head tilted left, his brain zigged and zagged through his memory, image, after image…

 _Boom – it landed!_

 _In the forest… the man fell from a tree. Samuel Ashford! So long ago – back when he was lumberjack! The old timers had said it was common for men who died as a result of falling from the tops of trees to have that peculiar shape to them._

" _But there aren't any tall trees near the pond…"_

) (

The bright lights shining from above the body, and the spanking-clean white walls of the morgue, worked together to make one feel they were on stage in the morgue theatre. "Well Miss James," Dr. Ogden queried.

"This clavicle has also been broken," the young woman responded.

Wiping the excess blood onto her beige morgue-apron, then placing her hands on her hips, Dr. Ogden blew an annoying curl out of her face and wondered aloud, "Why _so many_ old fractures?" _The puzzles with this case were astounding._

The women were so deep in thought that they both jumped with the ' _ **BAM**_ ' of the huge morgue door.

"William!" Julia exclaimed upon seeing him unexpectedly, then corrected herself, "Detective… We're not quite ready…"

"Doctor. Miss James," the detective nodded, his hat in his hands. Out of breath from the bike ride, dripping wet…

"How did you get so soaked?" his wife asked.

"Oh, I got caught in a downpour," he answered, plain as day. She went to a cabinet and found him a towel as he continued.

Rebecca was distracted, momentarily, by a thought… " _The detective was Water,"_ she remembered from the party, now looking upon the man happily drenched before her…

He was excited. It was contagious.

"I thought of something that might explain the swollen abdomen!" he said, his eyes now down on the body. The body had been opened-up, and the detective was having trouble orienting himself. "Where's the heart?" he asked, figuring that for some reason they had removed it earlier in the procedure than they normally would have.

"Miss James," Dr. Ogden nudged, giving her apprentice the fun of sharing the shocking news. Julia kept her eyes on William's face, waiting.

The detective looked into Miss James' eyes, then followed her eyes back to where her finger pointed at the body. "Down here," she said…

 _William saw it! Unbelievable!_

"And look," Miss James added, reaching inside the abdominal cavity to turn the heart, "It's ripped."

He couldn't deny that he was beyond surprised, _but still, his explanation would make sense…_

"I've never seen anything like it William," Julia said, her amazement evaporating her professional distance. "Most of his organs have been displaced," she continued, watching his eyes jump from recognizable organ to recognizable organ, each one lower, more dorsal, than would be expected, "Besides his heart, his spleen… his liver – his liver was nearly in the pelvis! All of them ruptured. You should have seen the amount of blood that had accumulated in the abdominal cavity."

He lifted his eyes to hers.

She noticed again, how soaking wet he was. _She imagined fluffing the towel over his wet head and rubbing him, deeply, soothingly, caringly, with her fingers through the comfy terrycloth…_

"Here," she said, offering him the dry towel. She went on, "I've never seen anything like it… detective."

Drying his own face, then his hair, he said, "I think I have… but, um, well… I had never seen the insides." He peeked at her from within the towel – pleased to see she was intrigued.

He glanced over at Miss James, then back to Julia. "When I was a lumberjack…"

Julia tilted her head towards her young apprentice and footnoted, "There's much about our detective's life you do not know, Miss James."

Becoming impatient, William clamped his lips together and nodded. Back to it, he said, "There was a man who died from falling from a tree. These trees are high, mind you," he gestured, stretching his hand up above his head and following it with his eyes, "He had a similar shape to his contours as our victim…"

William had gone on, _Julia partially hearing him_ , "old timers from the lumberyards said they had seen similar results…" _But her mind had moved on to fitting the pieces to_ _ **this case**_ _before them. Death from a high fall. One would think the skin would break open, but it made sense. The skin is full of proteins – that would stretch, and shock absorbing lipids. The organs inside would rupture as they had here. And they would shift down and towards the back – if he landed on his back… and the water, in this case, absorbed much of the impact of the landing – not enough to save him from death, but to…_

"Doctor?" she heard him ask for the second time.

"Yes?" she found his eyes.

"Do you think Constable Crabtree could be right…" now that William had her attention he felt uncomfortable about supporting the wild theory, "Um, I mean about the cannon?" the detective asked.

Confident, she responded, "It's consistent with his injuries… though, what we know is that there was considerable impact, likely it was a fall from a considerable height, into shallow water, um, we don't know that it was from a cannon, exactly. Do you think a cannon could shoot a man high enough and with enough force to produce such drastic injuries?"

William twisted his face into contortions as thought and emotions collided within him. He rubbed his brow again and took a deep breath, a sigh really, then said, "I'll have to look into it." His eyes back to the body, his expression changed.

Julia took a deep breath and organized her thoughts. "He was alive when he went into the water – there was water in his lungs, but he also aspirated blood. The lungs were punctured by a broken rib. I think death would have come quite quickly as he bled out," she continued her report.

" _Like a dog with a bone_ ," Rebecca thought to herself as Detective Murdoch reacted to his wife's decision.

"Good," William responded, his eyes twinkling in the bright lights, "we've got the likely cause of death, and possible means… Now, identity?" he pushed, lifting his eyes expectedly.

 _Rebecca observed the way Dr. Ogden tucked her chin, and held her husband's eyes for that extra second, warning him. And she thought she saw that the man had received the message, but…_

Julia reached up to grasp the towel draped around his neck, and tenderly spread its ends in her fingers, and then looped the comfy, dry towel up to rub his hair. She dried behind his ears, the back of his neck…

 _Rebecca James was astounded by it – she saw the image emerge so clearly in front of her eyes – lusty steam filled the air around them._

Now standing much closer to him, Julia spoke quietly. "There's not much, William. No tattoos. No jewelry. No surgeries, no stitches. Mostly, we can give you two things… and from them a suggested place to start."

 _Rebecca decided that the detective had definitely gotten her earlier message, for he looked at his wife with a wrinkle at the corner of his mouth, and everything about the expression said he was sorry to be so impatient._ She surprised herself, however, for she too, wanted desperately to know, blurting out the question one would have expected the detective to ask, "What two things? Where should he start?"

Dr. Ogden smiled and stepped back. All eyes returned to the body on the morgue slab. "We know he was _**very short,**_ and in good physical condition, clothing suggesting of a common man financially, _**and**_ we know he had a great deal of old broken bones…" Her hands once again on her hips, she finished, "He may have been a jockey…"

" _Of course!"_ Both William's and Rebecca's heads screamed at them!

The doctor reached down and extended the victim's ring finger.

William thought she might be about to suggest he was married, somehow knowing he used to have a wedding ring on his finger, but…

Julia's voice, an air of the cat-that-ate-the-canary tone in it, said, "You see these callouses from repeated blistering…"

Both William and Miss James nodded.

"Well, jockeys hold the reins in what's called a 'double bridge' – and race horses pull terribly, resulting in exactly these kinds of callouses," she concluded confidently.

"You are brilliant, Dr. Ogden!" William declared, "A jockey, of course… although… it does make one wonder what a jockey would be doing being shot out of a cannon, err, if that is how he got into the pond?

His wife teased, playfully turning him towards the door, "It is not _**Detective**_ Ogden, now is it?" Just as he had reached the threshold to leave, she called after him, "Oh, and Detective Murdoch, you might have some luck with his fingermarks. George already collected them. He took the photo as well."

"Good," he called back, making her smile.

) (

Crossing the bullpen, Murdoch nodded to Crabtree, who was busy talking on the phone. He deposited his homburg on its hook. _The slightest pause, as he soaked in the look of his hat hanging there, and his brain went back to the night he had been abducted, and how he had been 'returned' home naked – albeit for the hat. So much about that whole experience bothered him. He felt a shudder cross the backs of his shoulders with the creeps._

Hearing George signing off the phone call with a commitment to "head right over," William stepped back into the bullpen and waited at George's desk. The constable hung up the phone and said, his tone excited, "Welcome back, sir. I have just been speaking with the Master of Ceremonies with the _Terrell Jacob's Circus_. We're in luck! They have been in Toronto for the past week, and will be staying for another, so it is possible our victim was a performer there. Now, it turns out that they do have a human cannonball act, sir…" George glanced into the detective's eyes, assessing the man's degree of patience, before he changed the subject to add, "Did you know that it was a Canadian who invented the human cannon – "The Great Farini?"

"Something to be proud of," the detective responded.

George studied Detective Murdoch's face trying to detect sarcasm. Unable to decide, he returned to the point. "According to Mr. Banks, with whom I spoke, the cannon shoots the person about 40-50 feet, depending on the angle and how high in the sky the person… err, human cannonball, is shot. He said that the man they shoot from the cannon had been given last night off, but he is expected to perform tonight. Also, I inquired as to some facts about the cannon itself. As you would expect, sir, the cannon is very heavy and would be terribly cumbersome to transport. And, if it were used to shoot the victim into the pond, well, it would have left imprints in the grass. I was thinking we could send Jackson over to search a 50-foot perimeter around the pond…"

"Very good," Murdoch answered. "Do you have the photo of the victim developed already?" he asked.

George pulled out the photograph, as well as an extra one for the detective.

"Very good, George. I'll take this over to Woodbine, see if anyone there recognizes him as a jockey, or maybe an exercise rider. I suppose you are off to this _Terrell Jacob's Circus_ ," he checked, receiving a nod. "We should have someone checking the fing…"

"Ah, yes sir. I have Higgins on that," George said, gesturing at Higgins' desk, fingermark cards spread here and there, but the constable nowhere in sight. "It seems he's taken up smoking those dreadful cigars again, sir. He said he smelled Meyers' cigar the last time he was here… Remember when Meyers came to close our case with that enemy spy, um… Wimmer, was the fake name he used… The man who abducted you…"

Annoyed, on multiple accounts, Murdoch frowned. "I remember George," he insisted. He planned to find Higgins smoking behind the stationhouse and take him to task, but the constable returned just then.

"Right to it, sir," Henry said, taking his seat and lifting a card, immediately focused on the ink trails of swirls and loops.

With a sigh, William grabbed his hat and headed out. Woodbine too far for his bike, he would take a carriage.

) (

Success at the racetrack, William had identified the victim as an ex-jockey named Peter Schiergen. A man claiming to be an old friend of Schiergen's explained that the man had come upon an ad in the paper last winter. He had been extremely excited about it. The ad was seeking "small, brave men" and offered excellent pay. That was the last he had ever heard from his friend. He had always assumed that Schiergen had just taken the job on the spot, happy for the work because the racetrack is closed in the winter.

Murdoch phoned to the Stationhouse to see if they could get an address for Peter Schiergen. He inquired after George, finding the constable was still out. _He wondered if they could be that lucky… if the ad in the paper for a 'short, brave' man might have been run by the circus back when they had been looking for a human cannonball._ Receiving the last address on file for Peter Schiergen, the detective reached into his pocket and wrapped his fingers around the victim's keys. If he was lucky, they would match the locks at that address.

"Click," the victim's key turned in the door of the flat. Jumpy and unsettled, William reminded himself that he really shouldn't be doing this alone. He had been struck by paranoia upon arriving here at the building, fighting the urge to check to see if he was being followed. With a deep breath, he frowned. He was mad at himself, for he had managed to put his obsession with his abduction behind him for days… ever since their Anniversary Party, he realized, but now, all day long, the anxiety had returned and plagued him.

Pushing the door quietly opened, William found he was flooded with memories of encountering spies and their cloak-and-dagger dangers. He checked the floor ahead, expecting a trip wire – " _Plantagenet McCarthy,"_ the name sounded in his head, spoken in Meyers' voice. Uncomfortable, but fighting to overcome it, William turned back to look down the empty hallway once more, before he stepped into the flat.

Inside, he discovered little that he suspected would be helpful to the case. The man lived alone, a simple life, few clothes or possessions. William chuckled to himself as he tilted the book at the bedside to read the title. _The Riddle of the Sands: A Record of Secret Service_ , by Erskine Childersblurry. " _What are the odds?"_ he thought, " _The same book Julia and I just read to the children._ " On a deeper level, however, the fact that the protagonist in this particular book was a man working for the government, who had come to suspect that the Germans were building up forces on a local island and planning to secretly transport this powerful German army across the North Sea to invade Britain's east coast, the protagonist then had stowing away on one of the enemy vessels to spy on them and stop their evil plot… it served to unnerve William further.

Another deep breath, he told himself to focus. " _For all you know, William,_ " he coached himself, " _Peter Schiergen is just a circus performer… who happens to enjoy espionage novels_ ," he teased himself with the unlikelihood of the irony. In a drawer, he found what he believed to be a major clue – photographs! There were three different ones, all very, very blurry. They appeared to be photos of land… and a few buildings, taken from very high up. William tilted his head to the side with a noticing. At the edge of one of the photos, _yes, he was certain_ , it was a part of a tire. Wham! He grasped it – _from a plane! The photos were taken from an airplane!_

 _Perhaps Peter Schiergen wasn't killed after all. Perhaps he fell! Out of a plane and into the pond. Maybe it was an accident!_ William reasoned further, " _You would want the photographer in such a situation to be little, and strong, and brave… The ad was for a photographer, for a man who would, somehow, hang under a plane and take photographs of…_

William studied the photos more closely. Truly, they were too blurry to make anything out. He would work on it back at the station. It was getting late as it was. He hoped Julia would have returned to the morgue after teaching her class at the University. Perhaps she would still be in the morgue when he returned, to help him consider whether it was possible that Peter Schiergen had fallen from a plane to his death.

) (

 _Bam_ , the morgue door slammed.

"Detective Murdoch," Miss James reacted with surprise. She had just turned out the lights, hat already on, she was about to leave.

Disappointed, William figured Julia had left hours ago to teach her class and then, most likely, from the looks of things here, she had gone straight home.

Reading his face, Miss James quickly said, "Oh… Dr. Ogden went over to see you, sir. Uh, she had the results."

Relieved he thanked her, wished her a good night, and hurried over to the stationhouse.

) (

Upon his arrival, William spotted both George and Julia in the Inspector's office. They all seemed engaged in one of George's wild tales. Pausing at the door, grateful to have gone unnoticed, he listened in.

George's voice intriguing, he told, "Well, I just about laid an egg! Not only did Lady Minerva's cards know I had found my mother, they also knew there had been a 'joker' trying to trick me about that very same thing!"

 _William's brain ran down multiple paths, the first seeming to be more of an electrical surge, almost a singeing of his very fibers upon hearing the name Lady Minerva once again… and remembering her Tarot Card fortune from so many years ago predicting he would never have the woman he loved, only to reverse and say he would, but only with great sacrifice… And how her foretelling had been right, and how much that scared him and awed him. Down another neural circuit there was the remembering of the time George spoke of, with his 'two mothers,' and how he, himself, had enlisted Julia into helping him with the ruse he had thought up to determine the real mother, the idea springing from such an odd conversation he had had with George about Solomon's biblical dilemma and his offering to cut the debated progeny, a tiny baby, in half, and he felt the pain in his gut still with the memory of pulling off that stunt, for he and Julia were not together then, and they both were hurting so badly. And to top it all off, the whole thing had happened while he was working on the case of a murdered astronomy professor… the time in their lives when he, and Julia too, had first encountered James Gillies –_ _ **James Gillies**_ _! Chills ran up the back of his spine._

The Inspector spotted him first, calling out as he stood from behind his desk, "Detective Murdoch!" The man looked relieved, likely to be free of Crabtree's zany tales.

All eyes turned to William.

George inhaled deeply, excitement palpable. "Sir, Lady Minerva is at the Terrell Jacob's Circus! She asked after you, sir… said she knows of you, and of your fate, err, as told by her cards – said she saw it in the Toronto papers over the years. She wants you to stop by, sir," he blurted out.

"Oh George, I don't take Lady Minerva too seriously," William answered, minimizing the apparent impact of the gypsy fortune-teller's insights and predictions on him. Changing the subject, he said, "I'm glad you are all here. I've had a break in the case."

George responded, "Oh, that's good sir. No one at the circus recognized our victim… And their human cannonball was there, alive and well."

Inspector Brackenreid worked to move it along, "So, our victim was not a circus star who got shot out of a cannon then. So how did bloody well end up in the pond?"

Murdoch spoke up, "No, not so much from being _shot_ into the pond as _falling_ into the pond…"

"From where?" his wife interrupted.

William filled them in on what he had learned about Peter Schiergen, highlighting the aerial photographs, hurrying towards his urgent question of his wife, "Doctor, do you think one could sustain a fall, from as high up as an airplane, without having the skin… burst open on impact?"

There was hesitation, as she considered it, everyone anticipating, guessing in their heads.

"Well, as the fall was into water, I believe so," she concluded. Yet, her mind still struggled with it. "Even his clothing did not rip, albeit except for at the front of his pants… The water would have absorbed much of the blow. There was sediment on the backside of his clothes, so he fell completely through to the bottom…" she continued thinking it through. Her eyes changed, focused on William. "Yes," she said firmly, "I believe that it would be possible."

"Good," the detective concluded, "I think we know how he got into the pond. And as Dr. Ogden has said that he was alive when he went into the water, then we also have how he died. The question is, was it an accident, or was he pushed?"

Planning for the next day before finishing for the evening, William said he would enlist James Pendrick's help on the case, figuring that it was possible Pendrick had even hired the man himself for some reason or another, and if not, then he would be the most likely person they knew to suggest where else Schiergen might have found employment taking photographs from underneath airplanes. Constable Crabtree was assigned the task of searching newspapers from last winter to find the ad Schiergen had described to his friend.

As William tucked his hat on his head, he noticed it had dried. A smile curled on his face with the memory of his beautiful gliding on the bike in the pleasant rain earlier… and then with the seductive and caring way Julia had dried him with the towel… after setting him straight about his annoying hyper-focusing on solving the case. He would have to meet Julia at home, as he had his bicycle in the Constabulary stable. They were late, missed eating dinner with their children. Eloise would have put two plates aside. They would take up the chase again tomorrow… Huge, his exhale… letting out some of the pressure. _In the shadows of his mind, it lurked, the distinct sensation that someone was following him._

) (

Children tucked in, William and Julia finished up their bedtime routines. Julia sat at her vanity, brushing her hair. William was fussing about in the background with this and that – _changing a lightbulb_ , she thought. Admiring the warm glow of the strands of her hair in the mirror, she stood up and leaned over close to the glass, examining her hairline more closely, worried about finding grey. A slight frown grew, for the evidence was clear. " _I guess it's back to Oscar Ducharme once more,"_ she plotted, " _I think a bit more blond this time…"_

She would never know exactly how, but _she sensed it._ Checking on her suspicions, she glanced into the looking glass to see her husband in the reflection. _Oh my, she was definitely right_. _Gorgeous enough to weaken her knees,_ she saw his face – he was lusting, his dark, brown eyes glazed and fixed… _**on her behind**_.

Mischief arose in her, accompanied by her own sexual longing. She would entice him further. Slowly, Julia slipped her hand down to gather up the fabric of her nightgown, lifting the white garment, feeling the cool air, and his hot gaze, on her skin. The shift, the motion, the change, brought his eyes to hers in the mirror.

He wrinkled a corner of his mouth – _caught._

Scandalously, Julia continued lifting her gown higher, the hem almost there, dangling over the deliciously open space just under the round curve of her buttocks, where the two orbs met at the highest portions of her inner thighs. More… Higher… More…

Her voice broke the silence, dry, aroused, "Remember our honeymoon – our room with a view…"

Breathtaking, he dizzied with that final inch, unsure whether he could bear the jolt to his groin with the sight, as the tidal wave hit.

Arching her back, she dropped her belly down on the cool, hard surface of the vanity, then took a seductive step to the side with one leg, widening, opening, the space.

He saw red…

She watched his face in the mirror, charged by his gallant effort to harbor his urges, his fight to stay in control.

Suddenly, gown released, hem back down, Julia stood upright, turned, approached her stunned husband. So unbelievably devastating, his twinkling, chocolate eyes – whirlpooling her in. Sensing the tilt of gravity dangerously near, she leaned back, resisting the fall.

 _A slight warning, her expression served to alert to him, as an evil plot emerged in her mind._

"If you want it, detective… You'll have to…"

 _Boom_ , she powered a hearty **shove** into his chest, sending him backwards onto the bed…

"You'll have to catch it…" she hollered back at him, already in retreat.

Down the steps, fast, fast, fast – Julia's mind rushed ahead, out into the backyard! _Images of making love out on the grass, under the stars…_

With a thud, Julia's feet hit the halfway landing of the staircase, making the turn…

 _Whoosh_ , abruptly his arm ceased all forward motion, wrapped around her waist from behind – captured, her body floated and flung forward and up with the inertia. The world swinging and swirling and flipping…

A scream out of her gut…

 _She's on his shoulder… Back up the stairs. Her bare-feet on the floor now. His gorgeous eyes._

He swallowed – delightfully winded.

"William Murdoch," she reprimanded, "I am not some sack of grain you can lug about as you like," with her hands planted sternly on her hips.

 _Her resistance, her strength, buckled him. This woman was the one for him – the certainty swam through his soul._

"No," he answered, agreeing, enchanted and misty.

 _She lifted her chin, indignant – magnificent. Chest heaving up and down out of breath._

William tilted his head towards her, confiding, "But you did say, if I wanted it…" He grabbed hold of the skirt of her nightgown with both fists, and pulled her closer.

Dazing her, enticing her.

Quieter, so near, he said, "To catch it… And I want it…" He lifted her nightgown up over her head, tossed it away with a gentle whish to the floor. William's eyes traveled her naked, exposed, succulent body, her exquisite bare skin, curving and round and plump in just the right places.

In his mind, he flooded and gushed out of control. _Oh my, how he really wanted it…_

He pushed her down on the bed, stood over her as she looked up at him.

Julia backed away… slinked up the bed towards the pillows. Her mind too, was desperately anticipating what would come.

William's eyes never leaving hers, he leaned down onto the foot of the bed, on his hands and knees, he crawled up over her. Julia, slowly being taken by his shadow…

Her grip on constraint was tugged by her astounding attraction to this man. _So hard,_ she fought it.

Her hands blocked his advances, landing on his solid, irresistible chest. She stopped him. Squinting one eye at him judgmentally, she examined his face. Then teasing him, she said, "Avoiding the subject, once again, I see detective. I do insist we return to the problem at hand."

Willing to play her game, he playfully asked, "Oh, and what problem was that?"

 _Julia pushed at his chest, rolling him over onto his back. She would be on top. He would let her._

Lifting her nightgown up high on her thighs, she straddled him. Now over him, she teased, stating _the problem_ , it coming from out of the blue, "Why, detective, would a perfectly reasonable man throw his prized golf clubs into a mucky pond?" she shot at him, sure to gain the upper hand.

His answer out immediately, honest and true, he replied, "Because he is both of those things, 'reasonable' yes, but also still…"

 _Knowing what he would say, his meaning thumping with a POW in her chest, taking her breath away… his essence, his being, standing now so clearly_ vulnerable _in front of her. Her jaw dropped, her eyes blackened as she allowed the vision in._

Julia completed his sentence, her voice breathless, revealing its impact on her, "… a man."

 _She would never be able to say why, for it made no sense to her, but she was hit with such a profound awareness of the beauty of his humanness, and her chest seemed to crack open as a result of seeing it. And she knew, because of the warmth of it, that it was her heart expanding with love for him… and she so regretted ever teasing him about it, finding now that she loved his manly pride, or manly jealousy, or whatever other manly imperfections came with him, so much so that it threatened to dissolve her._

Beautiful, sparkly tears pooled in her warm, blue eyes. She showered him declaring over, and over again her overwhelming feelings of love for him, her fingers memorizing, cherishing his face, then her lips caressing his skin. _She loved him so…_

William held on to her tightly, rolled them both over to secure her underneath him. He leaned back, taking her face into his view. His hands tucked under her head, his fingers glancing her ears on the way, and now his thumbs brushing away her tears, William took a deep breath. It was his turn to tease, so he suggested, "Now then, perhaps we should tackle the problems with perfectly reasonable women?" and his brain was doing the calculations of her 'patterns,' and he kissed her, so petal-soft, on her luscious lips, tasting the salt of her down into his bones.

Her hot breath in his ear, she whispered, "Hold me," with a weakness that crushed him, and he felt her squeeze her arms and legs around him tight.

In her ear, he responded with a chuckle, and he whispered back, "I may want to do a bit more than 'hold you,' Julia..." he swallowed, "I am, after all, as we just discussed..."

She finished his statement for him once more, "a man… a beautiful, wonderful, remarkable, man… Touché William. Touché," she gave him.

He made love to her that night, with a reverence, a cherishing, that would make her feel loved beyond her wildest dreams for a long, long time to come.

) (

The next morning, Eloise had brought the _Toronto Daily Star Newspaper_ and left it on the table for the couple to see while they ate breakfast. She knew it would spark much conversation, having had read it with glee. Madge Merton had written an article about their Anniversary Party. It was a blast to read, and she still found she had to work to suppress her giggles as the Murdoch's finally arrived downstairs and began to settle in around the table.

The detective, usually the one to first read the papers she left out, quickly found the article. A photograph of their final kiss on the dancefloor, with the crystal tingling all around in the background, had caught his eye. He focused in on his wife's face across the table and said, "It seems Madge Merton had sent a spy to our party after all."

"Oh?" Julia revealed her worry.

Having already scanned through the story, thus knowing that the woman, famous for gossip, had shared as much shocking information as possible, highlighted specifically by Madam Celeste's public readings of their astrological birth charts and the "star's insights" into their romantic, sexual, and professional lives, William handed her the paper.

Julia read the provocative title aloud, "Steamy and Stormy Love Written in the Stars: A Murdoch Anniversary."

Unable to hide the fact that she secretly, well, apparently not quite so secretly, enjoyed public displays of their love, she greedily smiled, and bounced in her seat, and lifted an eyebrow at him, and said, "Oh my!"

She read on. "It would surely not surprise my readers, as we have all followed the life of this couple for many years, and we all know both Detective William Murdoch, and his wife, Dr. Julia Ogden, well, that he is a Water sign – Cancer, for the man embodies the very meanings of depth and mystery, while she is a Fire sign – Sagittarius, known to be both a 'pistol,' as well as warm and extremely bright. And, according to the expert astrological psychic, Madam Celeste, it is the mixing of these two elements, in the unique intensity housed in each of them, that inspires the stormy steam that surrounds their lives together…"

Julia silently read ahead, taking a bite of her eggs, everyone else also returning to their meals,

Eloise, off to the side, waited.

Julia gasped, drawing all eyes to her. "In the bedroom, William! It says, that…" her eyes lifted wide. _He had seen it, she could tell_. She glanced at the children. Julia decided that she could read it aloud, stopping if it went too far.

Her eyes dropped back down to the paper. "Spared of what would be, a stiff, rigid, romantic intimacy in the bedroom, if left to the detective, by the doctor's spark and joie de vivre, their special mixture of Fire and Water, and self-discipline and adventure, results in what is revealed by the stars to be a highly…" she paused considering whether to read the next part aloud, then ventured forward, "stimulating…" Julia replaced the wording, "personal intimacy – one that we all would hope for, steamy and spicy, and…" _She needed to take a breath._

She jumped down to a lower portion of the article. "The couple stood together amongst the crowd, including their three young children, William Jr. (4 years-old), Katie (3 years-old), and Chelsea (just over 1-year-old), and listened to the Madam's predictions. At times, particularly Detective Murdoch, looked uncomfortably exposed and blushed, but in the end, they were unable to deny the truths that had been foretold. Margaret Brackenreid, the Murdoch's Seventh-Year Anniversary Party planner, spoke of a "love-letter" that had been written by the detective for the doctor that was read aloud at a previous gathering…"

William must _not_ have read this part, for he choked on his breakfast as his wife read it…

His big brown eyes jumped up to meet hers. She saw such panic in them.

Behind them, Eloise failed in holding back a chuckle.

 _Julia read the rest quietly to herself. Madge Merton told the world of William's Meteorological Theory of Lovemaking, telling all her readers of their "wild mixing of his Water and her Fire to make lusty, sensual, racy love-storms that rage and thunder and nourish the profound and magical bond between them."_

Finished, she handed him the paper. "Miss Merton wrote about the times we saved each other's lives as well," she said.

He nodded, "Added the prediction… about the Air."

"Yes," she agreed.

They both checked the children's reactions.

Relief ensued with William Jr.'s exclamation, "We're famous!"

Julia smiled, "Yes, little one, that we are." Unable to help herself, she gave into the urge to chuckle, shaking her head.

) (

The photographs of Schiergen and his three blurry aerial shots tucked inside his jacket, Murdoch was accompanied by one of Pendrick's assistants to a very large building. Even before entering, he heard the metal clanging. Pendrick was working on an engine of the biggest plane William had ever seen in his life.

Spotting them approaching, Pendrick pulled his arms out of the coils and rotors and called out, "Murdoch! Have you come to see?! Isn't she a beauty?" He jumped down from his ladder, wiped some grease from his hand, and offered it for a shake.

Wholly taken, William asked, "How can it ever fly? It's so big?"

"Yes," Pendrick puffed up. It is one of my innovations. I'm running an aerial shipping business Murdoch. Sometimes the cargo is large."

"I see," William answered, peeking inside an opened space in the floor of the huge plane.

"And of course, I'm still working on perfecting the dropping of cargo without landing… As you helped me with. It works quite well. Would you like to go up… see for yourself?" Pendrick asked.

 _Oh,_ how William's eyes glistened with excitement. _He wanted to. He definitely wanted to._

Pendrick had to admit, he adored having someone around like Murdoch, someone who could appreciate the marvels he was creating.

Just for fun, Pendrick decided to tease, "That is, if you want to risk defying the _stars_. I mean it would be in the _AIR_ … And your wife is nowhere around to save you."

"Oh," William stalled, not knowing how to respond.

"Don't worry about it, Murdoch," Pendrick reassured. "I know, like me, you're a man of science."

"Mm. Perhaps, Mr. Pend… James," William clamped his lips tight and then changed the subject, "After I get your help with a case. I have some quest…"

Annoyed and worried and flabbergasted, Pendrick became defensive, insisting, "Don't tell me you think I've killed someone again, Murdoch. This is outrageous. I am at work here practically all day and all nigh…"

"No. No, it's nothing like that, James," William rushed to insert. "It's just, well I have a photo, and I wondered if you've ever seen the man before… uh, he was… Um, I have reason to believe he was involved with planes," he explained, taking out the photograph of Schiergen.

Pendrick had never seen the man. He also said that he had not been using his planes for taking photographs from sky. He agreed to come down to the stationhouse to help check any records for possible people who might have been involved in such things.

William had hoped the airman would invite him up in a plane to try to find the location in Schiergen's photographs, but it seemed that any talk of Constabulary business had dampened Pendrick's appetite for sharing. Disappointed, and uncomfortable with asking, he sighed and stared down at the photo with the partial image of a tire. _Ah, an idea_.

"James, do you recognize this type of tire?" he asked, extending the photo for Pendrick's closer investigation. Not asking permission, William stepped over to a smaller plane and leaned down to look underneath it. He asked, "How do you think he hung from the plane?"

 _Oh, his plan worked beautifully_ , Pendrick now caught with the puzzle and the mystery. Only minutes later, the two men were up in the air in a plane.

Having had determined that Schiergen most likely was secured in a rig to lie prone, tight up against the bottom of the plane, best protecting from being blown about by the wind, Murdoch and Pendrick moved on to looking for places down on the ground that matched those in the photos.

Holding tightly to the aerial photos, William reasoned aloud – very loud, "We don't know the time of day, so it's hard to tell the compass directions by the Sun and shadows. It looks like largely farmland and forest… here. One large building and two other smaller ones. Actually, all of these shots could be of the same place… just from different angles. Images ran through his mind, of what it must have been like to be strapped-in under the plane and taking pictures. He wondered, _"Did the rigging break? Did someone cut it – sabotage it?"_ For a terrifying second, William imagined the feeling Schiergen must have had that first moment when he started to fall…

 _Sometimes these things just came to him…_

 _William had a much better idea about how to take aerial pictures, he was certain of it._ Eager, he rambled on and on to James Pendrick about his idea of using his scrutiny cameras, and attaching them to the bottom of the plane, letting them click away the photos, getting at least two shots of the same thing, but from different angles… You could use a spectroscope to see the resulting photographs in a three-dimensional image! _He was excited beyond measure. And much to his satisfaction, so was Pendrick. Perhaps Julia was right, and he and this man could be good friends._

Yelling to be heard over the engine, and the wind, and his companion's enthusiasm, Pendrick said, "But Murdoch, it would be nothing but three dimensional blurs. You have to solve the problem of the camera bouncing around, Murdoch," he warned.

"Yes, yes. You're right," William replied, feeling only more energized by the challenge.

 **Suddenly, WHAM!**

Something hit the windshield, causing both men's instincts to make them duck and shield themselves with their arms. Quickly checking to see if they were safe, Pendrick recovering from the fear first, said, "Damn birds, Murdoch!"

And William figured it out – a bird had struck the windshield of the plane. At the speed they were traveling, it was quite a hit.

Pendrick yelled over, "At least this time it didn't shatter the windshield..." He watched Murdoch's eyes grow wide imagining what that would be like.

Taking the opportunity to poke at the man, Pendrick teased, "I bet you thought twice about your decision, eh Murdoch… to risk defying the stars?"

"Very funny, Mr. Pendrick," William worked to save face.

A few minutes later, both men having had drifted into contemplation, Pendrick said, "I know I'm a man of science, but I do find this astrology stuff interesting. What do you think I am, Murdoch?" he asked, "Do you think I'm fire, like your hot wife? – congratulations on all that, by the way… I loved Madge Merton's article in the Star…"

William was too proud, especially after being so jealous of Julia liking Pendrick's kiss, to feel embarrassed. He was spared having to respond, however, because Pendrick had kept moving right past the risqué sexual, love talk…

"Guess, Murdoch! Air, Water like you… maybe Earth…" he pushed.

Telling himself it was all a fairytale, he found he still did have a guess. "Air," Murdoch replied.

Pendrick laughed, "Yes Murdoch! It is fitting, is it not, that I would take to the _air_ so. I'm a Libra."

Once they landed, William trying to hide the fact that he was grateful to have his feet firmly back on solid ground, they headed directly to the stationhouse. On the way, Murdoch shared his idea about bullet-resistant glass. Pendrick agreed it was worth looking into, his fellow inventor helping him come up with a windshield that could survive a bird-strike. _He, too, was enjoying this renewed friendship with Murdoch._

) (

James Pendrick marveled at how busy it was at Stationhouse #4. He was having a drink of scotch with his good friend, Tommy-Two-Cakes – aka Inspector Brackenreid, while watching the hustle-and-bustle on the other side of the man's office windows. One constable was accruing the records of businesses and individuals who could own, or make, airplanes… to bring to him, to help look over the records to try to find who Schiergen worked for. Another was checking tire companies to try to find which type of tire was on the plane in Schiergen's photo. Crabtree had been all excited about finding the ad in the last winter's Gazette for a "small, brave man." Murdoch was making that phone call right now.

Never one to beat around the bush, Brackenreid asked the question on his mind. "So James, is it true that you don't remember locking lips with Murdoch's wife, the good Dr. Ogden?"

He would need time to think, Pendrick's eyes dropped down on the alcohol he swirled around against the sides of his glass.

Brackenreid would give him time. "Not the type of thing it's easy for a husband to look the other way about…"

"I have to agree with you there, Tommy," Pendrick said. "I'm sorry to say, I…"

Both men turned to look at the door. Murdoch had just stepped up. "The company that ran the ad in the paper, uh, for the 'small, brave man,' I got a secretary on the phone. She said they do not have any jobs involving airplanes, but that the manager, the one who would know about the ad in the paper, as well as any job applicants, would be out until 1:30," Murdoch told. "I'll head over there to talk with him then. Mr. Pen… James," William changed his use of the man's name awkwardly, "Um, I have the records for you in my office. And I thought we might draw up some of the plans, um, for the windshield, and the aerial photography…"

Abruptly, Pendrick stood up and chugged the last bit of his scotch. Nodding to the Inspector, he said, "Thank you, kind sir, for sharing of your superb drink. Duty calls," and he followed Murdoch out.

) (

Pausing before tugging on the Stationhouse 4 door, Terrence Meyers worked to push down his regret. These men were not going to like this, and he was getting tired of bringing nothing but bad news. " _But… it was for the good of Canada,_ " he told himself, entering the station.

 _Predictable, really, but still so amazingly irritating_ , Murdoch would never be certain if he smelled the cigar first, or spotted the top hat. His tone betrayed his thoughts of doom, as he slowly uttered, as much to himself as to Pendrick, "Terrence Meyers."

As expected, the head Canadian spy was there to stop the investigation into what had happened to Mr. Schiergen. Pulling Murdoch and Pendrick into Inspector Brackenreid's office and closing the door, he said, after a long draw on his stinky cigar, "We've been watching Clegg, and Clegg's been watching you, Mr. Pendrick…"

The room shared looks.

Deep down in the recesses of his mind, William saw a _Necco Wafer_ wrapper. Part of his brain took up chase – _Where was that? When?_

Objecting, upset by such news, Pendrick declared, "Me? Why me?"

"Inspector," Meyers delayed, hoping to calm, "Would you share a bit of your scotch?"

" _Blimey, this guy's got a lot of nerve,"_ Brackenreid thought while standing and walking over to the cabinet to get the man a drink.

Meyers took another puff, and looked Pendrick in the eye. "You've been under suspicion of being spy ever since you became involved with the Russians…"

Pendrick remembered, Svetlana and his rocket into space, and even Terrence Meyers himself… " _Didn't he die?_ " the question plagued him, the evidence making the answer clear.

"And so, we know Murdoch went out flying with you this morning," Meyers abruptly stopped there. It was only a matter of seconds until the protests began.

Brackenreid first, red-faced with fury, "And what's wrong with that!? Can't two gentlemen go out in a man's own private plane…"

Meyers held up his hand, to no avail, the barrage kept coming. Particularly the detective and the Inspector, for they suspected he would be shutting down their case again, and they were having none of it.

"Gentlemen," Meyers soon raised his voice, already reaching for the phone. "Don't even bother fighting me on this." He would not wait to see if they acquiesced. He dialed, and said he was afraid it would come to this, and he needed to talk to _**him**_ , and, in a matter of seconds, Meyers handed the Inspector the phone so the man could be told, in no uncertain terms, _by the Prime Minister of Canada himself_ , that they were to cease investigating the case involving Mr. Schiergen.

 _What Meyers would not tell them was that Murdoch had gone too far by making the phone call he had just made following up on the ad in the newspaper. That was too close. Yes, Meyers himself had managed to infiltrate that particular spy network with one of his own… women, and they still did not know who, exactly, was the mastermind of this particular enemy spy network, but he certainly wasn't going to have Murdoch blow their cover when they were this close._

Bad news given, Meyers hesitated before he left, _considering apologizing, considering asking if Murdoch and the doctor had liked his salmon roses decorating their front fence for their big party, considered … well, he would probably never talk to Murdoch about Ettie again, he figured anyway – too personal._ Finally, he said, "Oh, and Murdoch, congratulations on your anniversary. The, uh, papers tell quite a tale about it. Try to see the bright side of this, you'll have more time to spend with your beautiful family." He opened the door and turned back, "And tell your lovely wife I wish her well, Inspector. Oh… and Pendrick, Your Svetlana will be getting out soon. Watch out for that one." So quickly, he was gone.

) (

Once again, able to come home early because their case had been closed by Meyers, the Murdoch family indulged in a backyard picnic for their pre-bedtime snack of hot chocolate. Happily, they all lay out together on their big picnic blanket and gazed up at the stars. The father of the family was busy pointing out important stars, like those making up the Big Dipper, and Polaris – the North Star, which was the most important star of all because it can be used to find your way… it is always in the northern part of the sky.

William Jr. interrupted, asking, "Daddy, is your Cancer star up there?" remembering the details from Madam Celeste's astrological birth-chart reading at the party.

Ever the scientist, his father answered, "Cancer is a constellation, not a star, son. It's a bunch of stars in the same part of the sky."

"Where?" the boy asked, the rest of the family, except possibly Chelsea who was too young, growing curious as well.

Preparing for the rather long answer, William sighed. "You can't see it at this time of year, Cancer is aimed at the other side of Earth right now. When our side of the planet rotates around and is facing Cancer, it will be tomorrow – daytime, and the light from the Sun will be too bright for us to see the stars behind it. No one can ever see their own sign's constellation on or near their birthday. We'll have to wait till winter to be able to see Cancer in the nighttime sky," he explained.

Katie tried another sign, "How about Mommy's Satarus?" she wondered.

Charged with delight, William Jr. rushed to ask, "Can we see Mommy's fire, Daddy?"

Watching her husband's face, Julia recognized the moment the barrage of questions became overwhelming, and this was that moment. She would help now. She propped herself up on an elbow and looked over across her husband's chest to their little ones, Katie and William Jr. "The Fire and Water you heard Madam Celeste talking about at the party are all made up, honey. You can't see them. They aren't real things," she explained. "But, I'll bet your Daddy can show us where the Sagittarius stars are. They can be seen this time of year. Am I right, William?" _Truth be told, she really wanted to see them too._

"Yes, we can see Sagittarius, and Katie's Scorpio, too," he said.

William Jr. grew immensely excited. "Katie has stars! Do I have some too, Daddy?"

"You do," he answered, his voice betraying the fact that he, too, was being swept up by their enthusiasm. "You and Mommy have the same ones – you are both Sagittarius."

"How about Chelsea?" Katie asked.

"I… I'll have to think about that one, um…" he tried.

"Where's Sagit… Sagitus…"

"Sagittarius," Julia helped.

First, her Daddy showed Katie where her sign's stars were in the sky. "Now to find Sagittarius, you need to know it's the next constellation after Scorpio, and so it rose after Scorpio, so it's east of Scorpio…" William pointed and talked in a soft near whisper, making the whole experience seem magical.

Every Murdoch eye followed his directions, taking in the sparkling points of light scattered in important patterns in the sky.

"And you can use the North Star – Polaris, to figure out which way is east. See, the North Star there, so South is the opposite way, there… and east is that way. Now we find Scorpio again there, and move towards the east. Do you see those…"

 _Oh! Ahh! Ouh!_ **A shower of gasps called out in the night** – a bright star had flown across the sky, so silent, so quick, so invigorating, streaking a white, blazing trail across the sky! Everyone was looking in exactly the right place to see it… together.

Their Mommy called out, "A shooting star!"

Their Daddy called out, "A falling star!"

Before they could debate it, William Jr. whispered, " _ **Do it again, Daddy!"**_

And then Katie urged him as well, "Please Daddy!"

Heartbreaking, to disappoint so, but their parents had to tell them, that he could not, William Murdoch could not, make another meteor fly across the sky.

It grew quiet.

Katie asked, "Am I Fire or Water?"

Julia said, "There are four elements you could be, according to Madam Celeste," she added quickly, hoping to fight off William's suspicious looks accusing her of being duped by this whole astrology thing, "Fire and Water, but also Air and Earth. William, do you know which one is aligned with Scorpio?" she asked.

Clamping his lips together, "No," he said with a sigh. "But we can find out. And what Chelsea's sign is too," he reassured, "If you want?" he concluded.

"Yes! Yes, Daddy. I do want," Katie replied.

) (

Talk turned to that of shooting stars versus rising stars while the couple prepared for bed. Julia attempted to tell a joke, saying, "And then there are of course, rising stars."

"Now you're just being ridiculous Mrs. Murdoch," her husband scolded, "These stars, or meteors really, go across the sky, down through the sky. The only way that stars _rise_ is due to Earth's rotation, like the star closest to us, our Sun, stars rise and set too."

She sighed, defeated. "Well, I guess people then, will have to be our rising stars – like Hattie Carter showing off her lovely legs to musician Buddy Duncan's new Ragtime beat… those artist types always having all the fun." Being the one in their relationship who spices up their love-life, Julia suddenly had a wicked and lustful idea!

She had William bring up her Victrola and she put on one of her Ragtime records, and she danced for him. She sat William Henry Murdoch down on her vanity chair, and she swung, and dipped, and shoed off her luscious flesh to him. How beautiful he was watching her.

In his mind, he had a flash, of being just about to marry her, and letting himself just feel it, alive in his body, soupy in his head, stirring in his trousers, as Bat Masterson's exotic and sensual dancer wiggled and jiggled before him, just as this delicious woman was doing for him now.

The record finished, and Julia lifted the needle and turned off the player. She approached him, hot and out of breath, and aroused, and leaned her bottom on the vanity top next to him. She waited.

William's mind wandered, and he thought of the case, and imagined again, falling from the bottom of the plane – and then right away, being shot out of a cannon, and he didn't think, he just said, "You know, our case is much like our debate about stars. Either Schiergen was shot out of a cannon – a shooting star… or he fell from a plane – a falling star. I mean in this case, there was only one right answer… unlike in the case of the stars in the sky…"

He stopped abruptly, noticing the look his wife was giving him. He was unable to decipher its meaning… annoyed, surprised, impressed?

"William," she said, flabbergasted that _**that**_ was what was on his mind after she had just danced for him(!), and amazed at the tenacity at which he sought after solutions to the problems he was confronted with on his cases, and she worried that he would have trouble letting go of a case that they had clearly been ordered – by the Prime Minister of Canada – to forget about. She would address her concerns, flashes of her fears of losing him flaring up as the most important of all.

"Meyers… the Prime Minister, they distinctly told us – YOU, William – to drop the case, to stop working on the case." She held his eyes, waiting for him to acquiesce.

He sighed, his face wrinkling and admitting to the difficulty he was having in doing what he was supposed to do.

"Perhaps I can help you with this particular endeavor…" his sexy wife said.

She stepped close, her eyes fixed to his, and pulled her nightgown up high. Then, a long, supple leg over him, she sat in his lap.

"It seems my husband has a one-track mind," she teased, her voice sultry, her naked bottom delighting in the rise she was getting out of him.

William cleared his throat, the scent of her floating into him, spinning and whirling his brain into soup. He would need to speak, for words were evaporating away. "It could be argued that your husband has, at least, a two-track…" her lips stopped his words, never to finish his sentence. He would not complain, he would not remember…

 _The Murdoch's made stormy, steamy love in the chair of Julia's vanity that starry night – both seeing stars. Oh, and they would need another copper and yellow rose._

)) ((


	10. Chapter 10: Calm Before the Storm

Back to the Drawing Board_10_Calm Before the Storm

 _ **The wind of it verged on overwhelming,**_ _but, my God, the beauty from this height_ _ **… Three buildings, like in the photographs – that one huge… I think that's the same pl…**_

 _ **So silent… the sever.**_

 _ **But the fall, the fall from the plane, threatened every cell of his being, each drop of cytoplasm shifting its gravity. First, just confounded by the fact that his body rolled, and bent, and he found himself moving further and further from the bottom of the plane… and his stomach dangerously too high, smothering his breath.**_ **Never in his life had felt such fear** _ **. Only faster, certain that below him, the ground was growing closer and closer, impact imminent! The ground – unyielding, sure to crash!**_

 _ **Oh no, oh my God – "**_ _Julia! No,_ _ **" he screamed with all his might, for she was directly below him. He was going to land ON HER! He would kill her. "**_ _N o_ _o_ _o_ _. . ."_

 _ **Her voice,**_ _how he loved her voice_ _ **, promising, perfect, "**_ _I love you, William_ _ **," and the air became reassuringly warm, and he slowed with the wafting, upward currents of her lifting of him. Suddenly, surrounded by lush, sweltry steam from their meeting, their mixing, their melding, and he could not see. Still falling, he sensed it, but slower and slower, dropping to a gradual, gentle, rocking,**_ _float_ _ **. Madame Celeste… she's portending, foretelling, "**_ She is Fire, he Water… maintaining balance is essential for them… for she could evaporate his watery essence, he could extinguish her flame.

 _ **Then his motion ceasing. More a memory? Julia dancing for him – a racy ragtime beat, exotic and enticing…**_ _like Hattie Carter_ _ **, so, so, sexy. He let himself feel it, became lusciously aroused, every molecule focusing, centering, in his groin, wanting her. He sees it in her blue eyes, she is lusting too.**_

 _ **Bright… the illumination catches his eye – a shooting star – "or was it a falling star…" in Julia's voice.**_

 _ **Now he is drawing out the calculations on his blackboard, a body shooting from a cannon, a body falling from a plane. Right under his hand, the chalk scratching the hard, slate surface –**_

 _ **POOF – Only blank dusty remnants, his board erased. He strains to remember.**_

 _ **Then, BOOM, he's gone, taken somewhere into complete darkness, surrounded by a stifling heat that robs his breath, and such a sickly, sweet smell… stolen… Was it by Wimmer's corpse?**_

 _ **Meyers' voice in his head, "**_ _the winds of war never truly die down_ _ **."**_

 _ **And I'm naked. Nauseatingly hot, sticky, humid. Fog rises away, and Julia's gone – and I plummet all over again! Only her wedding rings left, I see them there, on the bed where I'm about to land – hard. All that time, plunging to here, where she saved me with her Fire, and I fell, I lost control, I got distracted by the case once again, and I drowned out her essence with my irrational obsession. My God, she's gone forever…**_

 _ **Slam! How his neck snapped… and his heart broke off, severed now from his body, but he still felt it, rupturing down, down, down deep into his gut. Pain, excruciating, unbearable, the anguish of knowing he had lost her.**_ Torrential sobs shook his body, heart-wrenching, heart-wrenching sobs.

 _So soothing, Julia has me, is holding me... absorbing the pain._

"Your heart is absolutely pounding, William," her voice all around me, loving and strong, reliable… home. She pulled his troubled head into her soft bosom, muffling, soaking up his sobs. Stroking him, _her touch so tender_ , as she stroked his hair. Her warm, safe voice just above his ear, "Hey, hey there, William. You're alright. I'm right here, hmm?" She slid her body down, aligning her soul with his, joining, together so tight, and her hands cupped his face. Her intimate kisses flooded over his cheeks, removing the burning, tasting away the salty liquid of his tears.

"Shh. Shh," she quieted him. "It was just a dream, William. Shh," she promised him, "You're safe. I'm safe. All the children are fine." She kissed away more tears, listened, _he heard it too_ , his breathing growing deeper, calmer, his heartbeat slowing from its race. "Just a dream…"

 _Just a dream…_

 _Just a dream…_

 _Just a dream…_

) (

The speed of their speaking back and forth matching with their excitement, the two friends endeavored to solve problem after problem after problem, their smiles gleaming with each new success. Detective Murdoch's blackboard the center of attention, each man armed with chalk, they made their plans. One side of the board, now flipped over, held for them James Pendrick's new airplane windshield design, vastly improved by the addition of intermittent layers of glass and cellulose meant to protect from birds, and even bullets, if they were encountered up high in the sky.

Now, they focused on this side of the detective's board, the scene catching occasional perusal from a constable here and there from out in the bullpen, and once in a while from the Inspector, as the designs blossomed with each adjustment, each addition. The drawing board displayed William's plans for photographing land surfaces from an airplane. Brilliant, it combined the innovation of using two cameras, providing two angles, two perspectives, on the same place. A left eye and a right eye, just like one's own seeing, when placed in stereoscopic goggles, three dimensions would emerge from only two, _and Viola_ , depth perception.

The chalk drawing reminded one of William's invention of a baby bouncer, the camera replacing the baby in the basket, held by springs reaching up to attach to the belly of the plane. Three springs would stabilize the camera in their opposing and counterbalancing tethers, stopping the wiggle, stopping the blur. They would be his scrutiny cameras, William choosing the amount of time between each shutter click. No human risking lying under the plane, the invention was safer, more effective, and efficient, and ultimately much more useful than what it seemed Schiergen had been employed to do.

It seemed ready.

George listened in through the open door, distracted from his menial task of alphabetizing known fingermarks, and then recording them alphabetically by right thumb whorls and right thumb loops. He would hear it, as the device's name was born, for Detective Murdoch's enthusiasm would raise his voice.

Pendrick stressed the title should include the _stereoscopic goggles_ , the central piece of equipment that the average user would encounter. William noted that what the goggles would be used to see was _the Earth_. And then the name came to him, someday a household word – "Goggle Earth!" William exclaimed. He wrote it above the drawing board design. Both men stepped back and admired the work.

"Very good," William assessed.

Pendrick congratulated him with a friendly slap on the back. "We'll need a test run," he said, his eyes back on the plans.

"Mm," Murdoch agreed.

"I also wanted to test the cargo drop," Pendrick went on. "You know, the larger plane. Do you think the cameras could be housed in front of, or possibly behind the flaps?" he asked.

"We could take the photographs before we dropped the cargo. That way the flaps wouldn't block the view," William suggested.

"I'll do you one better, Murdoch," Pendrick exclaimed, "Before and after. That way we…"

"…could see if the cargo hit the target! Of course!" William beamed.

The two men made their plans, lowering their voices to barely above a whisper. They would need to pick a location for the drop. And it would need to be secret, especially now that they knew Pendrick was being watched by spies, both American and Canadian. They figured the drop could be into Murdoch's backyard, on a day that Pendrick had given his staff the day off.

"Let's make the calculations… How soon before we're above the target do we need to release the cargo? And from what elevation?" Pendrick moved towards finishing.

"I've been planning on giving the children bicycles, and a little rolling horse for Chelsea. I just wanted to install a pair of small wheels from the back-wheel sprockets of the two small bikes, to help them not tilt over and so easily. Do you think we could drop them?" William asked, stepping up to the board and starting the calculation at an altitude of 400 feet and an airspeed of 40 mph as he began the math problems for the acceleration before parachute deployment.

"Murdoch," Pendrick proudly said, "You'd trust my invention enough to risk your children's bikes!"

"I would…" he paused, then wrinkled a corner of his mouth, "Though, I guess they could end up dangling from a tree," he admitted with a shrug, remembering he did have a large woodsy area relatively near to the yard. "It should be fine if it isn't windy," he reassured himself. His mind delighted with images of his thrilled children. " _Maybe some flowers and candy for Julia, too,"_ he thought.

) (

 _William's bike ride home gave him time to reflect. Julia was teaching tonight, so she would not get home until later. Thoughts of her being at the University with Leo Carruthers crossed his mind… His fingers clenched around the handle of his bicycle with the memory of how tightly he had clung to the roses in his hand, the ones he had brought for her, while he tried to get away after seeing them together. He heard her in his head, beautiful, now he realized, her words to him… She still felt butterflies half the time that she was around him. That was magic really. And he did too. A deep breath as the air blew softly over his face… they were lucky. And, he admitted to himself, shaking his head in disbelief and with a chuckle, maybe Madame Celeste had been right about all that steam and storm stuff too._

 _He worried about telling her he intended fly with Pendrick. He imagined keeping it a secret, to save her from worrying, thinking that he could just let her think he went to early Mass as he usually does on Sunday. Then she would just be surprised with the gifts. Still, it didn't feel right, and Julia would know anyway, when the gifts fell from the sky… or at least she would suspect. He could outright lie, and tell her Pendrick dropped them from the plane, but he was alone. Upon arriving home, William was still torn._

) (

Realizing that Chelsea was in her playpen, alone for some reason on the front porch, and the little baby had not yet spotted him, William quietly tucked his bicycle away under the front porch steps, and walked up the steps watching his littlest girl. Inevitably, the floor creaked and Chelsea turned to see him.

"Dadda!" she screeched.

It lit his insides so.

"Hey, my pretty little girl," he greeted her, leaning down to lift her into his arms.

"Touch!" she demanded, pointing at a spot on the wall of the porch. It was stunning.

"Oh," William declared with his voice full of awe and mystery, "Look at that!" He walked her closer and the baby reached to touch it – a beautifully illuminated rainbow spectrum shone on the wall of the house. She was fascinated.

"That's the electromagnetic spectrum, the visible part of it anyway," he whispered to her. "The different wavelengths are bent by… this crystal…" he explained, turning and bringing her to the decorative crystal hanging from the porch ceiling. Julia had put it here just last weekend. Her father went on with his explanation, "The crystal is denser than the air, and the different waves bend different amounts, so they separate…"

The front door opened and Katie, and William Jr. and Claire-Marie rushed out onto the porch.

"Daddy," the exclamations cried out.

William squatted down to catch them in his arms and enjoy their hugs.

"We were waiting for you," Katie said.

William Jr. noticed what Chelsea was pointing at on the wall. "Wow! A rainbow!" he declared.

Katie was enthralled too, running to the wall to touch the rainbow with her very own fingers.

Their father showed them that the rainbow was from sunlight passing through a crystal their mother had hung on the ceiling. Once he pointed them out, the children could see that there were many other rainbows as well, of all different sizes, refracted through the crystal. But then, he knocked their socks off, because he took a hold of the bottom of the crystal and twisted it on its string, rotating it until it was tight.

"Are you ready for the light show?" he asked.

And he heard them, suck in a deep breath of air, waiting, breathless. Even so, their reactions were fantastic, as he released the crystal, and it twirled into a marvelous spin, bursting the walls and the floor and the ceiling of the porch into hundreds of streaking rainbows, sparkling all around, and then each colorful streak made a slowing U-turn, and then the kaleidoscope display reversed direction to spin the other way. It was breathtaking, earning gasps from all.

Little Chelsea attempted, with wild and gleeful giggles, to catch one after the other of the luminescent streaks, chasing them about on the porch floor. Katie joined in. In the center of it all, William Jr. stood, mesmerized, at first trying to follow a particular light trail as it flew by, then holding his gaze steady and letting the lights dance across his visual field, first one way, and then back across the other way. Magnificent, enchanting… wonderful.

The novelty of the show settled down in a few minutes. William asked Claire-Marie to stay with the children for a while longer. He had some work to do down in his workroom. He changed his clothes. Went up into the attic, and then down into the back shed, to find springs for the camera stabilizers he was making. Then he took down one of his scrutiny cameras from over the front door, the other camera, both necessary for stereoscopic images, was from stationhouse.

Things went quite well, as William was able to complete the plane attachments for the Goggle Earth project. Next, he considered the two bikes and the little horse with wheels for Chelsea that he had hidden in the secret passageway. _It would have to wait_ , he thought, because the small "training wheels'" had not been delivered yet. He expected them tomorrow, it should work out to be in time for the drop with Pendrick on Sunday. Still a little time, he decided to work out with his weights.

Soon, he heard the children down in the playroom, from the other side of his workroom door. They played for a while, before there was a knock at his door.

"Are you done with working yet, Daddy?" William Jr. asked through the door. It was irresistible, the yearning in his voice. William did the rest of his workout that evening roughhousing out in backyard with giggling, screaming children functioning as his weights.

Having had so much fun, William gave in to his children's requests to continue their game out in the backyard after dinner. They were running, and playing as the Sun set in the western sky, turning the world around them into a flood of golden hues.

Out through the backdoor in the dining room, Julia stepped onto the patio. The noise from the door closing behind her, like an avalanche, triggered the barrage of running children and her husband, to greet her with an exuberance that would make anyone feel loved.

"Mommy's home!" the alert rang out.

And soon she was buried in hugs and kisses.

William waited for his turn. _He watched, aware of the warm, glowing joy in his chest._

Julia stood, a hand to a little head here and there. Her eyes shifted to meet his in the rosy setting light. _My God, he was a good-looking man_ , the thought struck her as it did sometimes.

The Murdoch children knew what would happen next.

William and Julia stepped into each other's arms… kissed… then kissed some more. Finding his ear, her tone quiet and lush, "Wonderful to come home to such a loving, handsome husband."

"So too, to be received by such a loving, beautiful wife," he gave back.

Finding they enjoyed the comradery of the game, the Murdoch children had quickly taken to filing their complaints about their parent's incessant and annoying kissing, but, as was most often the case, their grumbling had not stopped the yucky kissing, so William Jr. suggested they go back to playing.

It was Katie who remembered the crystal rainbows on the porch. "Wait," she requested. Despite knowing it was not allowed, she tugged at her mother's skirt. "Mommy! Mommy, come see…the pretty lights!" she begged.

"On the porch, Mommy!" her brother inserted, the excitement contagious.

Stepping back from each other's embrace, her parents looked down at their three-year old's expectant, optimistic face.

"What lights are those?" Julia asked. She looked to her husband for the answer.

He nodded to her… he would get around to explaining that. He focused back on his little daughter. "Oh honey, it's too late for that now – there's no Sun. It won't work," he told her, then looked back up to Julia to add, "Um… the crystal you hung on the porch…"

William Jr. jumped in, excited, "It made beautiful rainbows!"

William sighed and said, "We'll have to show Mommy tomorrow."

Moaning and groaning, they moped their way back over to their pile of outdoor toys.

Turning to his wife, he said, "It is later than usual."

"Sorry," her apology came quickly. Not wanting to address it, she kissed him again. Delightful, the soft 'click' sound of their kiss breaking off. A quick peck down on his neck and she pulled back to bemoan, "My handsome husband is rather sweaty. I do believe a shower is in order."

"Perhaps later," he replied.

Well," she considered her options, "Perhaps I can talk my him into joining me… if I mention things like his suddsing me up, and being all slippery and lathery with me."

Julia's body brushed against his, _and somehow by the way she did it, he knew that her attention was focused on his groin. It would be obvious_ , her romantic greeting, and her sultry words, had had their intended effect on him.

 _So delicious, she watched his expression change, his jaw clamp tight, his eyes become intense. William was resisting, and she loved it with all her heart._ Was it helping or hurting when she asked, "What pants are these?" as she stepped back to consider his lower portion's attire.

His voice cracked, "Oh, they're… old, from when Stationhouse 4 played the baseb…"

"Oh, yes," she replied, her blue eyes twinkling with mischief. "I remember. l quite like them on you…" her eyes widening playfully to reveal her wild thoughts. She then let her eyes travel downward, adding, "Nice stripes."

"Mm," he answered her, clamping his lips together.

 _He remembered a time they discussed how much she had been aroused by the sight of him in this baseball suit, right after they had moved into the hotel. She had written about it, and read it to him, from her journal. Everything so new then between them, so lovely._

William changed the subject, "You must be hungry."

 _Now she remembered_ , "Famished!" She squeezed his arm.

Risking returning to her tardiness, he said, "It is quite late."

She studied his face, but did not respond.

 _He wondered what she was searching for._

She took a deep breath, and her expression changed, him recognizing annoyance in her face. "I don't want fight, William," she stated.

 _Suspicions triggered, he pushed himself to pursue them_. "Why would we fight – were you with Leo Carruthers?"

 _Each of them fought the momentary lug of the rabbit hole – their fight about Julia showing, allowing, Leo Carruthers to see, to touch, her leg, her dimorphic knee, the subject was still a bit too tender, to raw to be completely forgiven and forgotten._

She sighed, thinking it might be unavoidable. "Time got away from me," she said, stoning her face. A thought crossed her mind, and typical of her, she said it aloud before thinking, "Maybe I shouldn't have told you."

 _Here, he could have attacked, for she had admitted, and thus had caught herself, in letting him know she had had such a riling thought, but his conscience reminded him of his own mistakes on a similar topic, and he chose, in that second, to be fair._

"I think we learned, from what happened with Ettie in Winnipeg, that it is better not to keep secrets from each other, even if we are motivated by sparing the other suffering," he pronounced, disclosing his own errors and sharing that he trusted in her good intentions. _His mind ran back to his memory of his bike ride home today, and his wrestling with his discomfort in telling her about his plans to go up in the airplane with Pendrick, and in that instant his decision had been made – he would be forthright about it… but it would be later._

"William, honestly, there's nothing to be jealous of," she tried to save them from the inevitability of the argument, grateful for his step towards harmony, then asked, "Are you feeling jealous?"

His face admitted to it.

"William, Leo and I didn't even discuss anything… exciting…

 _His brain flared it, only for him to push it aside, he didn't like that she called the man, "Leo."_

Julia had kept going, "…At least last time it was something **you** would have found interesting too, identifying a body's gender… when only left with a partially acid-dissolved femur." She stepped closer, confident she could convince him.

She needed to tell him exactly what had happened. She looked him in the eye. "Two students spoke with me after class. They were having some problems… at the school. Later I spoke to Leo about it, and like I said, time just got away from me," she offered.

"Good," he said, letting her know he believed her, promising that he would try.

He took a deep breath, stood up taller and shifted his eyes out onto the grass of their dusky backyard, to include the children. His voice raised to cover the distance, he called, "Shall we have some hot chocolate before bed… Sit at the table with your mother while she has her dinner?"

Happily the Murdoch brood bolted to their parents. They did so love hot chocolate. Receiving a few extra hugs before they went inside, Julia pointed out that the children needed baths… too.

) (

After bathing and tucking the children into bed, William and Julia lounged in the cool, June evening, air on the front porch. Sitting together on the bench, Julia's mind found a memory of sitting with him, on this very same porch, and having a big argument about his wanting her to have an abortion with their second child because he was afraid she would die with a second Cesarean section, and her wanting so very much to try to have the baby.

Next to her, William was trying to muster up the courage to tell her about his plans to go up with James Pendrick in an airplane.

Uncomfortable, and failing to hide it, William said, "Julia, um, there's something I want to talk to you about."

"Oh," she said immediately, her mind racing to prepare.

He would follow his plan. "Well, you know how James Pendrick offered to take our family flying… uh, for our wedding anniversary gift."

 _William did not like this idea himself, though the reason was illogical. He feared it would be tempting fate for him to fly WITH her, as Madam Celeste had foretold that Julia would save him from dying in Air. However, his pride would never allow him to admit to such a thing._

 _For her part, Julia found that she did not want William to_ **ever** _go up in the air because of that same astrological prediction, but not wanting to appear superstitious, she was holding her tongue._

Speaking fast, so the words would get out despite his reluctance, William said, "Well, he offered to take me up this Sunday, um… He… we, we want to test out the cargo drop design he, err, we made. Um, do you remember, we planned it out on the board downstairs in my workroom?"

She nodded. _She remembered, William had solved some problem Pendrick had had, with opening the flaps in the belly of the plane to release the cargo and its partially opened balloon-like parachute, by connecting a mechanism to a handle that would be next to the pilot… if she had it right…_

Now William's excitement, nerdy and wonderful, took over as he added the information about testing his stereographic, three dimensional, camera stabilized, photography of the drop. "It's called 'Goggle Earth' because you use stereoscopic goggles to see the three-dimensional Earth…"

 _Julia watched as her husband came alive, bubbling over with enthusiasm, and she cherished him so for it. But there was a disconcerting buzzing, a tickling, inside of her that was building. As she listened, it became clearer and clearer to her. She was worried that he was still obsessed with this case – two cases really, both of them taken away by Meyers. The first was the investigation of the killing of the man said to be William's abductor, identified falsely as Mr. Wimmer, shot in the head right around the time of the abduction, and the second one involved this odd jockey fellow– Schiergen, who fell from a plane into a pond at the golf course, while taking photographs. And now he, her husband, William, the man who was abducted_ because he was set up by Meyers to appear to have formulas for radiative substances _, this very same man wants to now go do the very same thing that Schiergen was doing when he died… Well, it just did not sit right with her. She would ask him._

"William, I think you are still obsessed with the case," she stated outright.

 _Her heart soared when he did it,_ wrinkled a corner of his mouth.

 _He saw she knew the truth_. His big, beautiful brown eyes darted away for a moment… _still some hope of hiding it._ Then, such a deep sigh. His eyes back, he admitted, "I think I'm being followed almost all the time, even though Meyers reassured us that my abductor was killed. My mind returns, again and again, to these same two cases. I think they're linked, Julia."

His eyes looked deeply into hers, with an air of pleading. His words poured out of him. "Meyers suggested the spies… spy, the man pretending to be Wimmer, who took me, was German – implying so because it was the German's who were interested in the half-life formulas for radioactive substances, and it is the Germans who have done research on the deadly radioactive poison – supposedly used to kill Pendrick in Panama, but of course, he wasn't really dead… but that poison was polonium – a radioactive substance made and deployed, it seems, by the Germans. And it troubles me, Julia, that our second victim, Schiergen, was also a German immigrant, possibly connecting my abduction and Schiergen's death – and that means that the _same_ spies that abducted me are dangerous and sinister enough for the Prime Minister of Canada to stop us from working on the case."

William took his first breath. "And…" he paused, checked with her. Such a warm smile he gave her, revealing his comfort in not being alone. "And there's… this…" he worked to go on, rubbed his brow with the stress of it, "It bothers me, this little thing, but it bothers me." He sighed.

"What William?" she helped.

His eyes were darkly intense with this look. "The Necco Wafer wrapper, Julia… in Wimmer's pocket. And you know, and I know, the spy most likely to be the man who dropped it…" he looked at her expectantly.

Julia's mind ran it through. _Rebecca James stole some pastel colored stomach contents from my morgue… Of course!_

"Clegg!" she exclaimed, excited she remembered _before the dread of the connection hit home. It was always serious whenever the Americans were involved._

"Yes!" William declared, hurrying to add, "Meyers said that Clegg was watching Pendrick, that that was why he had one of our spies watching Pendrick, and that was how he knew I went up with Pendrick in his plane… The USA links the two cases, Julia! The first with the Necco wrapper, and this one with Schiergen with Pendrick and the airplanes…" William reached up and rubbed the back of his head, messing with his hair, squeezing the back of his neck. Thoughts raced so quickly in his mind, he had trouble choosing which ones to say. He sighed, venting his frustration, then disclosed, "Meyers took Schiergen's photographs, but I remembered them, sketched them out, the land and the buildings from those photos…"

 _He still intended to find the location in those photos, to figure out what they were pictures of – and why Clegg would be so interested in them, and what, if anything, this place had to do with Schiergen's death, and how this Wimmer character was involved – and why he tried to kill him… And what any of this had to do with the half-life of radioactive substances…_

The couple shared a look, and Julia saw into him, and he knew that she did. He sighed again. "Julia," his tone so sincere now, "I want to know why they took me." He wrinkled his mouth.

 _Her heart pounded so in her chest._

He leaned back, worked to calm down. "I had asked you if you still had the blood sample you took from me that night…"

 _He was asking for her help, and that was something she would not deny him._

She smiled at him. "My, you have been thinking quite a lot about it, haven't you?" she acknowledged.

His face wrinkled, he could not deny it.

Julia took a deep breath, then told him what she had learned. "The closest I could figure from such a small sample was that the drug they gave you was an alkaloid – most likely from a species of nightshade plant…"

He nodded, she had already told him that.

She went on, "I gave it to a colleague, at the University. I'll need to check on his findings, William. He did tell me that from the symptoms you had, he had a suspicion… He said there were… William, these were nothing more than rumors, stories told to researchers while in the field, none of it had been verified…" She took another deep breath; _the whole thing was very upsetting_. "He said some people in Colombia were said to have used seeds from a plant called "devil's breath…" Now it was Julia who rubbed her brow, before she let it out, "It is said that it can make the person act as they might if they were hypnotized – that they would do whatever was suggested. Supposedly, people had given away their money, and possessions, and secrets."

"Perhaps a type of truth-telling drug, then," he jumped at the possibility of an explanation for what had been done to him. "The Germans, or whatever spies they were, thought I knew some secret about those formulas, and gave me the drug so I would tell them?" William speculated.

"I suppose so," she agreed, "And since you didn't know anything – because you had been set-up by Meyers as a decoy, well then, they had no use for you after that, so they let you go. But why almost kill you, William?" she asked urgently, immediately regretting it, for it would push him more to pursue the case. She would have to back-peddle now.

However… _"Brilliant!"_ she thought with his answer…

"They could have wanted to make sure nobody discovered this special drug," he speculated.

Julia's excitement with the thought rose, "Yes, of course! They needed to remove evidence of the drug, so they drained it away with your blood. I wonder… well, even if they did know I would be able to save you – and I must say, William, under most circumstances I would not have been able to. I mean, I needed means, which they could have known I had, as a doctor. But I also needed to have compatible blood with yours, and we needed William Jr.'s blood too." Julia paused, then thought aloud, "I'd have to say, it didn't seem too well thought out on their end. Most likely, they didn't care if you survived or not," she offered.

He sighed, and regretted the thought, but agreed, "It is somewhat typical of spies to not care much about the lives of those they use to meet their dastardly ends… I guess."

There was a lull.

Julia took a drink from her glass of whiskey, then placed it back down on the ledge of the arm of the bench. Her big intake of air drew his attention to her as she shared, "I was just remembering that terrible winter's night, about two years ago, when I found you out here…"

"Mm-hmm," he remembered, "We had an awful fight… about whether we… you, would try to keep the baby or have an abortion. He took one of her curls in his fingers, let go a big exhale. "It was the first time we really argued about if your body is mine or not," his wrinkled mouth as he shared his admission that it had been hard, and that he was sorry.

Julia did the math in her head… _More than one time? Oh yes, Leo Carruthers touching my leg._

She moved closer… kissed his cheek. _Interesting, this does seem to be an issue_ , she thought. "It is a little complicated… Is it your womb too? I mean, it is where _your_ baby grew – twice, hmm?" her fingers tucked behind his neck, slipped into his hair. "Does marriage mean my womb is yours?" she pondered.

He wrinkled his mouth again, apologizing before he said it, "It's the closest I'll ever get to having one."

She chuckled. "I suppose that's true," she admitted, considering it. "So, in a way, this really is your knee, your leg," she said, lifting her skirt up high as she had done with her nightgown the night they had argued about her having had allowed Leo Carruthers to investigate the dimorphic angles of her _female_ knee. "Oh, but no," she reprimanded and teased him, "because you do have legs of your own."

He exhaled sharply and reached up to rub his brow. Then he held her eyes with his, and she felt so much with that look. _He didn't want to disagree, but he did feel possessive of her, and he thought badly of himself for feeling that way…_

"William, when we argued about…" she would say it, but it sounded so silly now, "um, _my leg_ … um, I asked you if it was yours, and you said, 'yes and no'…"

He nodded. _He would likely never forget it._

"Well," her eyes dropped away only to meet his again, "I will give on that… I agree, it is and it isn't." Her hand slipped onto his stomach, admiring its tautness – _he did so work to keep himself in shape_. She tucked her face in next to his, found his earlobe, kissed it, softly took it into her mouth. Her hand molded upward over the ripply muscles of his chest. She exhaled as her body grew aroused by the feel of him, and her warm, moist breath flowed over him. "But only if you agree that this is mine too," she specified. Then she giggled, warming every cell in his body and added brashly, "Among other things."

 _Her hand… his heart skipped a beat… downward, magnificent the anticipation, the surge…_

He felt the dropping begin. He would slow it down. "I'm all yours, milady," he vowed, pulling back, taking her hand, lifting it off of him. He raised an eyebrow at her and scolded, catching her out on her attempt at luring him into public lovemaking, "But not out here on the porch."

She harrumphed, "I can't say I'm not disappointed," she complained, retreating back to her corner of the bench. " _At least I can have a drink out here in public_ ," she thought, raising an eyebrow at herself for drinking whiskey at all, and then being so bold as to have a glass of it out on their front porch for all the neighbors to see… _which of course, at this time of night, would be no one._

Her mind went back to that night two years ago, when she found him out here in the middle of the night, in his pajamas, unable to sleep for worrying about her dying should she try to keep their second baby, requiring a second Cesarean section, if she carried the baby to term. Her utter shock that night when she noticed HIS glass of whiskey on this same bench ledge. William Murdoch, sitting in the dark alone, drinking whiskey. In all her days she had never thought she would ever see such a thing. The impending fight had been huge. William had gotten so upset when she said it was _her_ body, and she wanted to take the risk…

She remembered, the sight so real in her mind's eye, him jumping up and rushing to the railing of the porch and vomiting over it into the bushes. Then he walked away, barefoot and in his pajamas! The feelings in her gut whirled with panic and dread and guilt… and hurt all over again. " _He came back,"_ she reminded herself, remembering the cold thump of their bodies flying together on the porch steps right after she saw his bare feet there on the cold, winter ground in front of her.

Revealing to her that his thoughts had taken the same path back in time, William said, "You must have been quite surprised to find me drinking your whiskey, I think… Um, that night when we disagreed about whether you should abort…" _He realized it now, as he was about to say it. She had been right back then about not wanting to abort their little girl. He knew it when he forced himself to say her name in this very sentence…_ He pinched his lips together and swallowed, then finished, "…Susana."

 _Oh, how it had hurt to lose that baby girl_.

Julia took a deep breath and said, "When we fought about that, the baby didn't even have a gender yet, William. And, well…" tears welled in her eyes, "Well, we both loved her very much," She nodded, and he nodded with her, and he too, looked so devastated with the memory of losing her. She shifted, breathed deeply, let the pain flow. "But we do so very much love Katie and Chelsea, hmm?"

"Yes," he answered.

She settled in against his shoulder.

Changing the subject, after a time, Julia said, "It was quite a shock, seeing that whiskey glass at your side."

"Yes, I would wager it had been," he replied.

She squished in tighter against him. "William Murdoch, drinking whiskey," she reiterated. "I must say, William, I did rather enjoy the _other_ time you drank alcohol," she said, her voice taking a seductive tone, and her hand resuming its sensual explorations of his flesh.

He smiled, as his mind played up for him the image of the two of them – _their first kiss, the disappointment melting away about the absence of green fairies_ , and he agreed, "As did I."

"That was the only other time, right… that you drank since I've known you?" she asked.

He chuckled, for it was not.

"William!?" she declared. Pulling back to study his face. Playfully, she gave him a shove.

He smiled and nodded, "I had a glass of the Inspector's scotch, just before I… proposed… um, asked you to marry me…"

"Oh… Sorry about that," she said, cupping his cheek, receiving his admitting it mouth wrinkle, for it had hurt when she had turned him down, even though he came to learn it was for good reasons.

His face brightened, "Oh, and I had a few drinks… um, at the stag party George threw for me right before we got married."

"Really," Julia reacted with surprise, and then switched to mischief, the resulting look of worry in her husband's eyes delighting her to the core. And what else did you do at this _stag party_ of yours?" she asked him, moving in, pressing her moldable flesh against him, writhing and wriggling and lighting him on fire.

 _He was going to tell her_ … but she kissed him… _about Bat Masterson's gift, and the enticing way the woman danced for him…_

Their kisses grew deeper, Julia's hands traveled lower, and William's struggle to remain in control teetered near the brink. A kiss breaking off, her fingers riding up his thigh, she pulled back and said, as she watched her hand move over him, "I do so like these baseball pants on you William." She fell back into his body, her hand slipping the last inch, and in his ear, her moan with the feel of him. "The cotton is so," _mmm_ , her moan devastated him, "tight and revealing," she giggled with the memory, at the time it was so much more scandalous really, for she was married to _another_ man, and seated next to the woman she believed William had come to love – Anna Fulford, _but my God the sight of him from behind… in those pants, Mmm-Mmm-Mm._ "Particularly nice from behind, thanks to all the bicycling, I figure," she whispered. She pulled up her skirt, lifted a leg over him, sat in his lap facing him, her knees bent on the bench on each side of him.

"Julia Ogden," he said to her, "You really do bring a bit of spice into my life."

She glowed, and bounced and wiggled her shoulders with her beautiful eyes twinkling at his, replying, "Well, thank you, detective."

The way she did it slamming him with a memory of when she had visited him in his office after going out to a boring dinner with Darcy, ultimately prompting Darcy to fall back in love with her and then change his mind and refuse her divorce. She had looked breathtakingly radiant, absolutely luminescent. He couldn't keep his eyes off of her. He had told her she looked beautiful, and she had done just this same thing, _and my God_ , more than anything in the world he had wanted to be married to her.

"Now," she said, a kiss to his jaw, "tell me about his party," a kiss to his cheek…

He imagined it in a flash… _first the erotic woman swinging this way and that in front of him at his party. And then, like a lightning bolt, the magnificent vision of Julia dancing a wild and primitively arousing dance for him, swaying, and so slowly, so seductively, pumping, and moving, and wiggling, lifting her night gown high for him… nothing underneath! And his heart pounding so in his chest he thought he might die, and BOOM his groin throbbed with delightful, bolts of need for her..._ And then he felt the hit of his mistake _, it landed hard – the feeling of having let her down._ _**How could he not have appreciated?! What was wrong with him?!**_

William cleared his throat, "Julia, I uh, I regret the other day… I uh, I really liked ... your dance, that you did for me, and I wish I had… well, acted more appropriately, the way I felt instead of…" he sighed, "instead of… I, uh…"

 _Oh, how she loved this man. He had finally realized the effect his pre-occupation with the case was having on him,_ on us _… He must have stepped out of the bubble he got himself stuck in when we talked just now,_ she thought to herself _, about his obsession with this crazy case … It shouldn't surprise me how he got so sucked in by it. After all, William was abducted, and William Murdoch, the man with the best memory I have ever known, can't remember a thing about it… And it probably triggered something even deeper, a trauma, probably from when he was on that undercover case with George about the meat-industry and that disgusting Flannel Bull character held a gun to George's head as a means of gaining control over William, and publicly stripped him, and fondled him, planned to sexually assault him, even handcuffed him and nearly had him abducted by his fellow American police goonies, to perform who knows what sexual acts against his will… And with all that, my lovely William found his way back to apologize for not appreciating me enough…_

Her compassion astounded him as she answered his call, interrupting him, "I know you did, William. I know you liked my 'rising star - Hattie Carter dance' for you… very much… despite your two-tracked mind derailing you and taking you to the case…" _It certainly wasn't the first time his attentions were stolen away by a case.…_ "It was obvious that you…" she cleared her throat, ducked her chin, held his gaze extra-long, "I sat in your _**lap**_ that night too, William. Remember?" She giggled, and tilted her pelvis at him, rubbing firmly against his still alert body. There was plenty of fire there between them, now, as there was that night as well.

She added, to reassure him, "And I dare say, after talking about it, I think this case was getting to you even more than I had originally thought. But really, William, it's a good thing that Meyers took it away. Let him deal with all these treacherous cloak and dagger spies," she urged.

He clamped his lips and gave her a good-hearted nod. "I'll try," he said, "I promise. "But, I have to say, what I'm doing with Pendrick on Sunday has nothing to do with the case," he argued, his voice lifting with what he clearly felt was an urgency. "It's for his shipping business…" _William decided to stop there, for she was bright, and it would not take much for her to see the potential benefits his 'Goggle Earth' innovations would have for surveillance of enemy territories in war, or spying in general._

So, after much discussion, together they decided that William would go with James Pendrick on Sunday morning, up in airplane to test his cargo drop with the added benefit of collecting data with William's Goggle Earth invention. Julia would plan to have the children outside in the backyard at the right time to see their toys coming down. It would all be very exciting and great fun.

Julia, wanting to get back to a more romantic topic, unbuttoned the first few buttons of her blouse. _"Oh, he noticed!"_ she felt the shot in her womb.

Encouraging him by guiding his hand to her next button, she wondered, her voice low, intimate, "Have I told you that I love you yet today, detective?" So scrumptiously she sucked on the flesh of his neck.

 _My_ , how it thrilled her when his raspy voice replied, his words sending sensual, lust-filled memories through each of their deepest parts…

"I believe you did this morning, doctor…" he said, both hands fascinated with the way her curves bent and yielded to him, lowering his face down into her creamy cleavage, smelling her in, her scent, her soft body electrifying jolts directly to his groin. A quick kiss to one breast, then to the other, before adding, "I believe it was a bit after you cried – and he imitated her desperation, "Don't stop William, please don't stop," before he took a mouthful of her, and then he cockily chuckled as he moved on to devouring her every inch.

Words disappearing into the steamy fog so quickly, she replied, out of breath, "Oh yes… I do remember."

Wild with need, they rushed upstairs, the urgency of an encroaching storm on the horizon. Julia insisted – it would be in the shower, and thus their few remaining items of clothing were dampening on the steamy bathroom floor.

The water was cascading and hot.

The soap was slippery, and luscious, under the sudsy, warm, hungry, hands of the lovers, under the lathery contours of their male and female bodies, sliding and gliding up and down over the bumps and dips of her pliable flesh, his firm muscles and protruding eagerness. Nipples erect and reaching for the other, their rigid points distinct on the bare, slippery skin of the other, as they writhed together.

Inside of Julia, her womb twisted into a building, swirling vortex of unbearable need for him. _He would never be close enough to satisfy this want, never,_ she strove to pull him in, as her legs were lifted from the shower floor, and her back shoved, roughly, into the shower wall. "Please William," her anticipation of their connection weakening her into a warm, gooey puddle of desire for him.

 _Oh, the rupture flared_ , as he drove into her, the sensation spinning her head so that she saw the threat of feint blackness with the plummet. But she knew it was unsurvivable when William moaned. _Oh my God when this man moans_ , and she fell further, faster, and she wanted only one thing in all the world… "Please William," she pleaded, "Please _closer_ … Please."

Powerful, his thrusts, raging and completely abandoned, he thundered into her, over, and over… " _So close now…."_ Her gasp… the turn… the dwell… the float… So weak and helpless her moans, " _She's right there, Oh my God!_ " he surged as she squeezed him so succulently tight around him, ripple after ripple drawing him up deeper inside. " _You've got her now…Yes_ …" William's breath stormed, rugged and beastly, into her ear, as he rammed into her with every ounce of energy, every fiber of his being, _all into her_ , all pounding to get deeper, closer, before she felt him exploding inside of her. His thrusts stretching to reach that last miniscule inch, touching that one perfect spot.

"Mmm…" William's moan surrounded them, echoed so, as it rumbled loudly over the roaring water of the shower. Still a few more waves, breathless, he told he loved her… with the very last drop of him, he loved her, truly more than life itself.

) (


	11. 11: Summer Santa

Back to the Drawing Board_11_Summer Santa

) (

Two days before the morning of the cargo drop test, William had brought the Goggle Earth apparatus and the gifts functioning as 'cargo' to a rendezvous point where Pendrick had planned to hide the larger cargo plane. This confidential spot would help their activities remain more clandestine, and it was also closer to Murdoch's house. William intended to 'go to Church' as usual for early Sunday morning Mass, but then steal out the back, in case he was being followed. Pendrick would claim to be having a romantic weekend away, and thus his staff would have the weekend off, lowering the chances of drawing attention to what they were doing. Anticipation, and a bit of nerves, were high with the build-up to Sunday.

) (

When William reached over, in the still, dark room, to turn off the alarm clock before it could ring, Julia too, was not asleep. She lay, her back to him, wrestling with her internal battle. _She was terrified he would die today_ , her emotions so high that she alternated between clenching her teeth and working to control the urge to punch something, and swallowing back the swelling of her tears. Despite herself, for he would surely notice, she sighed, having been overcome by feelings of frustration when she found herself thinking that it being 'her time of the month' was probably contributing to the problem.

Her cover given away, betrayed by her exasperation, she rolled over to face him. Eyes already adjusted to the pre-dawn dimness, she was able to make out much of his handsome face looking back at her. The urge to cry, just in that moment, won out. _She could not bear the thought of losing him, she just couldn't._

"Good morning Mrs. Murdoch," he said, his voice dry and scratchy."

"Mr. Murdoch," she replied, slipping her naked body into his embrace, so very lovely, as skin slid along skin. It seemed possible, that she could hold back her tears, not let on, to her raging struggle. She pressed further, pushing him onto his back and pulled a leg up over him, dropped her head down onto his shoulder. There, she took a deep breath. In the end, _she knew she would say it. She would never forgive herself if he died and she had not tried to stop him from going._

"I'm afraid I'm having second thoughts… about the plane," she admitted into the darkness.

She couldn't see it, yet she was certain he had wrinkled his face, an unconscious instinct to apologize. "Julia," his voice had an air of reasonableness, "You know you can't take what…" William paused, for feelings of his own hypocrisy bubbled up about minimizing her concerns, when he himself had been likely been bothered by the very same thing. He cleared his throat and asked, "Is it because of what Madam Celeste predicted?

"I know it's silly, William… but yes," she risked embarrassment for the sake of honesty between them.

He rolled her over…. gave her a quick and tender kiss. His sigh revealed his own level of inner conflict – he too would tell the truth. "It's not silly, Julia. I keep thinking about it too." His thumb caressed her cheek as his hand tucked under her head to settle into her curls, cherishing the feel of her delicate ear as his fingers crossed over it on the way. He wrinkled a corner of his mouth. "But, I find I see it differently. Remember, the madam's fortune was that _you_ would save me from the Air… and certainly the Air could very well be an airplane… but, well, truth be told, it seems both _you_ _**and**_ _the airplane_ need to be involved for her prediction to come true, and I wouldn't be going _with you_ , so I feel it's safe," he finished proudly. So quick, his reflection, forcing him to add, "That is, if I were to believe in astrological fortunes at all… which, of course I do not, so it's really not a problem in the first place.

 _There was a logic to what he was saying, and she found it did reassure her somewhat… importantly, it reassured her_ enough. She pushed against his chest and teased, "Well you'd best get going then, detective. I believe you wanted to be sneaking out of the Church before it was light."

"I'm so glad I married you, Julia," he declared, giving her one more kiss, and then hurrying out of bed to be on his way.

) (

He took a cab to the Church, avoiding having his bicycle left behind as a clue to his having had slipped away. It troubled him that he still felt so certain that he was being watched, spied on, for he had never actually been able to spot anything untoward… thus he had no evidence that it was so. That being said, they were certain Pendrick was under surveillance, not just by the American government, but by their own Canadian government as well. Admittedly, all of this added an air of danger… and William found he enjoyed the thrill of it.

) (

"Magnificent Murdoch!" James Pendrick yelled as the wheels of the plane lifted off of the ground, surging one's head and stomach with a thrilling dizziness. The friends shared a look, each seeing the pure glee in the other. "I've set the cameras to begin photographing in ten minutes," William hollered over the loud engine. Silence settled in around them, between them, each man lingering in his own thoughts.

William's eyes soaked up the sights. It was exhilarating, seeing familiar places – roads, buildings, rivers, all so clearly connected, from up here. Their old Hotel – the Windsor House! There's his Church – he could make out people leaving the early Mass! _He wondered about it – if his cameras were taking pictures now, the photographs could be enlarged… individuals could be identified! This could be very useful, indeed, both for policing, but also for sinister purposes as well,_ he noted. " _Wow,_ " he thought, " _that's the stationhouse – and Julia's morgue across the way!_ " He could trace out his route to work… _Almost there_ , his every cell vibrated with anticipation.

Then his house, it looked so much bigger than he expected – probably because of the big front porch, and also the servant's quarters. _In all his days he never thought, he, William Murdoch would own such a house._ There was Judge Matthews' pond, where William Jr. had picked the controversial Mother's Day orange lily for his mother, although they were flying too high up above the ground to make out anything much more than trees and bushes from here. The woods, on the contrary, looked surprisingly small. The leaves filled out the trees so that he could not see through them to the "water well" serving as the mask for their exit from the secret tunnel from the house.

William gasped under his breath. He could make out the moving people down below! _Julia in her long dress, the others… two of them, not able to tell… well actually, yes, he could. The cameras had probably started taking photos…_

Pendrick cleared his throat, loudly to be heard over the noise of the plane. "Murdoch, ready the flaps!"

"No wind this morning," he commented, optimistic the cargo would land where planned. Not something he took lightly, he crossed himself, and then took a firm hold of the lever between their two seats. "Bikes away!" he declared as he pushed the lever back.

It worked like a charm… flaps opened, platform – loaded with his gifts secured tightly within thick netting – dropped away, with minimal wobble. Then the parachute – their biggest concern had been that it would get caught on the airplane's flaps on the way out – in the end, not a problem, whooshed and puffed quickly out of the plane's belly. Abruptly, it was just gone. William pulled the lever forward and the flaps closed.

Down on the Earth below, Julia alerted the children to look in the sky the moment she heard the plane engine. They spotted it quickly as it approached from the east, shielding their eyes and pointing. "There are two men flying that plane," their mother told them… "and one of them is your father. He's with Mr. Pendr…"

"But Mad Cest said Daddy woul…" Katie's voice shrieked, fear overtaking her as she remembered the show the night of the big Anniversary Party.

"You have to save him!" William Jr. rushed to interrupt, tugging at her skirts.

"Jump Mommy! Jump up," little Katie verged on tears of panic, her three-year-old brain unable to know that it was not possible for her mother to do such a thing.

Kneeling down to them, she placed her glance firmly into their eyes, first one and then the other. "Your Daddy is fine up there in that machine. He was the first man in the world to fly a plane – and that was with Mr. Pendrick in his plane too, and Daddy knows what to do. I know you're scared, but Madam Celeste is not able to know what will happen in the future. I promise you, Daddy is fine. Let's wave to him, hmm?" she suggested a plan of action. _Secretly, she prayed to herself that he would be alright, that her promise was not a lie._

Julia looked to the plane and waved one arm in the air…

Gratefully, both children joined in. Katie encouraged Chelsea to wave to Daddy up in the plane too.

Bursting with excitement, William Jr. asked, "Do you think we can see Daddy?"

"I think he's too high for that, little one," she replied, straining to see with her own eyes if it were possible.

Unsure of the safety of being directly under a cargo drop, Julia decided it would be best to watch the rest from inside the house. She picked up Chelsea in her arms and ushered the other two children along towards the backdoor of the dining room.

Quickly, the parachute filled the sky below the plane, drifting slower and slower as it grew closer.

"What's that?" Katie screamed out.

"Is it Daddy?" William Jr. asked, worry entering his voice once more.

"No, no, Sweetie… It's not Daddy. Daddy is still safe inside the plane. I think it's presents!" she declared, hoping to alleviate their fears.

"Presents!" Katie yelled.

"Well, we'll have to see, but I think it might be Summer Santa," she instigated, setting their childhood excitement aflame

Up in the sky, it was not until the two men circled back that they were certain of their success. It occurred to William, though, as he couldn't see any sign of his family down there on the ground, that he should have prepared Julia for the large size of the parachute. _Could they be under it?_ he wondered, just before he spotted Julia's long dress coming out of the backdoor of the house. So soon they were out of sight, the airplane heading northward. _How he would have liked to see the children's faces when they discovered the toys… and Julia's too, for he had left her unexpected bundles and bundles of flowers and candy – lots and lots to bolster the celebratory mood._

Down on the ground, Julia insisted the children stay back while she gathered and pushed the big, puffy, parachute out of the way. "You two need to stay with Chelsea, please," she reminded again, as her own eagerness and anticipation served to help her recognize how truly elated the children likely were.

"Was that really Daddy?" William Jr. exclaimed, his eyes big as saucers, mesmerized by the huge balloon in their yard.

"Yes," Julia answered him… "At least I think so… Well," she would offer up a hint at what was in the humungous air-delivered package, "Perhaps it was Summer Santa!" she exaggerated, as she pulled and hauled the parachute out of the way, the bicycles and toy horse soon to become discernable.

"Santa's not in summer, Mommy," Katie protested.

"Bikes!" William Jr. screamed out, "We got bikes! Look Katie!"

Julia quickly added, "And a horse to ride on for Chelsea too," making sure to minimize fights by defining which toy was whose.

"There's flowers… for you Mommy," William Jr. said,

"Oh my," his mother delighted in her gifts, "I do like this Summer Santa," she said, encouraging the game.

) (

A sign that William was still quite obsessed with the case, he asked Pendrick if they had enough fuel to venture further north than they had the last time they were up flying. He wanted to try to find the spot Schiergen had photographed. It was when they hit North York that things got exciting!

" **Three buildings, like in the photographs – that one huge… I think that's the same place!"** William exclaimed. _My God, he wished his cameras were photographing this!_

Pendrick verified, "Out your side of the plane?"

"Yes! Yes! I'm quite certain," he replied, "Can you go back around… maybe get lower?"

It was on that second pass, that the hair on the back of each man's necks stood up, for there were multiple…

"Are those airplanes, Murdoch!?" Pendrick shouted.

It seemed to be a large base of sorts – for airplanes. There were two paved runways, buildings to store and hide the planes in one of them very, very large, and quite a few airplanes out in plain sight.

"Yes!" William answered, "I count nine of them!"

William's mind moved a mile a minute. _This was what all the spy drama was about – this air base! No wonder Adam Clegg was spying on Pendrick and all his flying innovations. Clegg thought Pendrick would lead him to this… And what more, if William was right about the Germans being involved, they too would have been interested in finding such a Canadian military secret as this! Everybody was looking for this base, and Meyers was trying to keep it hidden at all costs!_

"Astounding!" William said. "No wonder Meyers wanted us off the case… he was sure I'd find it," he explained.

Pendrick struggled to make the connections. "So, you figure Schiergen also discovered this secret Canadian… base…"

"An _airbase_ , really," William named it.

Pendrick continued drawing together his conclusions, "And you think Schiergen was photographing during a spying surveillance run – for who? The Americans?"

"Or perhaps the Germans," William added.

"Or, to be honest, Murdoch, maybe even the Russians," Pendrick blurted out, _thinking back to the time he had spent in Russia, when he had met Svetlana. The Russians were pretty serious about flight…_

Going on Pendrick said, "And that's when he got those shots, err, the photographs that you found in his flat… And that's why he was killed?"

William sensed he had hit a snag. "But, if Schiergen took the photographs for whomever he was working for…" William paused, _his mind running too many directions at once. The phone number he had called, the one in the newspaper ad for a small, brave man… that would have gotten him to Schiergen's employer, and Meyers had stopped his investigation at that point, thus ensuring he wouldn't find the base… And further complicating matters, they had not been certain that Schiergen had actually been killed – it being possible that he had just fallen from a plane while working._ His voice still loud to get over the plane engines, but much less excited, William wondered, "But it doesn't make sense that he would have been killed by the same person who hired him to take the photographs…"

"True Murdoch," Pendrick agreed, now turning the plane back towards home.

William considered, "Perhaps he developed the photographs and recognized them for what they were… and then tried to sell them to Meyers knowing Meyers would want to keep Canada's secret safe."

" _My God_ ," the thought crossed William's mind, " _Would Meyers have gone so far as to kill Schiergen to ensure he made no further blackmail attempts, or even to stop any potential leaking of the information!?"_ And to top it all off, it was there, in the dark recesses of William's mind, lurking, gnawing… _What did all this have to do with his abduction?_

 _A man like William Murdoch was extremely bothered by untied ends, and this case seemed to have many of them. As he tended to do with emotions he couldn't understand, couldn't control, was unable to completely grasp, William needed to put all this on a backburner… let it stew for a while…_

Pendrick suggested that they keep the discovery of the airbase between themselves for now. He urged that William was officially taken off of the case by Meyers, and now that they knew how high the stakes were, it was in Murdoch's best interests to stay out of it – just drop the whole thing.

William agreed. He didn't say it, but the biggest problem he had with Pendrick's plan was not telling Julia about it. He already regretted keeping it from her. He would give it a day, and then decide whether or not to tell her, he decided, feeling better about it for now.

) (

No surprise to him, William found his family in the backyard. He stood for a moment watching them from the dining room. Julia had done quite a good job of rolling up the parachute. Pendrick had agreed to come get the whole contraption tomorrow. She was helping Chelsea roll her riding toy horse along, challenging because the wheels under the hooves were tiny and they were struggling to get through the grass. Both William Jr. and Katie were making good progress in mastering their bicycles, he noted proudly, for a grassy surface made the learning even more difficult. He would need to do some coaching, however. Katie was not sitting centered on the seat, and thus one of the training wheels held a consistent weight of the load.

He took a deep breath, soaking in the beautiful sight. He felt happy. The floral scent permeated his nostrils, and he remembered seeing bouquet, after bouquet, of flowers displayed all over the house in vases as he came in. And even now, the dining room table held three vases of roses – the copper and wool ones he had given Julia for their seventh anniversary, and two other vases – each full of a colorful mix of blooms. Next to the flowers on the table, there were boxes of chocolates and hard candies, waiting to be broken into for further indulgences to come.

"Daddy!" the exclamations rang out as William walked out to join them. Hugs and kisses and greetings all around, William quickly turned to the new arrivals.

"My, my," he awed, "What happened here?"

"Mommy says it's Summer Santa," Katie answered.

The concept got a chuckle out of him as he eyed his wife. "Summer Santa?" he marveled.

"Yes Daddy," Katie answered, deciding it might be best to show him, she rushed towards her new bike. "Look Daddy!" she yelled back, already swinging a leg over the seat.

"I got one too!" William Jr. rushed to tell, hurrying to mount up as well.

Pushing the edges of this 'Summer Santa' story, William asked them. "Did he come down the chimney?"

Bikes wheeling by this way and that, Katie called out, "No Daddy," as if he was the silliest man in the world, "From an airplane."

"Oh, I see," William answered.

So grown up, William Jr. thought about it as he whizzed by. He remembered what his mother had first told them when the airplane came, and then he just knew…

"You gave us the toys, Daddy. Mommy told us," he said, plain as day.

Julia stepped in. "And how did Daddy give you the toys?" she asked.

Pedals never stopping, William Jr. answered, "Daddy was up in the plane… with Mr. Pedrick."

U-turning and coming back for another pass, the little boy asked, "Can I go in a plane, Daddy?"

Cutting across, not able to go quite as fast as her older brother, Katie piped in, "Me too!"

Then little Chelsea lifted her hands at her father, wanting to be picked up. "Me!" she insisted, not wanting to be left out.

"We'll see," their father told them for now, "We'll see."

After dinner, the Murdoch's chose the front porch to finish their night. The Sun was low in the sky, setting up a perfect line of the sunlight through the crystal hanging from the ceiling to sparkle the rainbows that had caused so much excitement the other day. They shared the beauty of it with their mother.

Julia found that she had an irresistible urge to kiss her husband. _Was it how good-looking he was in the golden light? Or the way he sparked such wonder in the world for their children… for her?_ _Likely it was because she had been so very scared she would lose him to the astrological forces of fortune, and she had been saved the suffering of such a plight_ , she told herself. Either way, she would give in to the urge. She scooched over on the bench, and locked her lips to his. "I love you, William Murdoch," she whispered in his ear.

William Jr. and Katie and Chelsea too, all piled onto the bench, some on laps, some in tucked into tiny corners. It seemed everybody wanted a little loving.

Sitting on her mother's lap facing her, her head resting on her Mommy's soft chest, Katie was beginning to feel sleepy after such an exciting day. It felt so wonderful, the way her mother stroked her hair, petted her. She lifted her head and asked, "Weren't the colors bootiful, Mommy?"

The warmest smile, Julia replied, "They were spectacular." Then Julia remembered all the candy. "How would you children like to have some of the colorful candies Daddy bought for us?"

William went to get them off of the dining room table. Carrying the tin back to the porch, he opened it and the dusty scents escaped from the container. " _Odd_ ," he noticed… He felt nauseous all of a sudden. " _Creepy_ …" the thought dropped away.

Before taking the children off to bed, a little earlier than usual that night, they talked of the upcoming August adventure. They would be going to Alberta! Fossil hunting, for Daddy's Anniversary gift. There would be a long train ride – even longer that when they came home from Katie and Chelsea's orphanage in Nova Scotia! And they would see big mountains, and Daddy would find dinosaur fossils, and they would see amazing, amazing stars in the night sky…

 _After all, anything was possible in a world with something as marvelous as Summer Santa._

) (


	12. 12: Twice?

Back to the Drawing Board_12_Twice?

) (

Through the bedroom window, in the early, early morning, the breeze rustled in, carrying with it the smell of ozone. Maybe it was the far-off lightning strobing the room, or perhaps the distant thunder, that roused William to wake. He breathed in deeply, the electricity in the air tingling his body as the next flickerings of light splashed the walls, the ceiling… Habitually, he counted, _one – one thousand, two – one thousand, three – one thousand, four – one thousand, five – one thousand, six – one thousand, seven – one thousand, eight – one thousand,_ the rumble began, still far off, but so long the low vibrations of it, the ominous rolling. _It's a big one_ ," he told himself. Another bright flash followed by smaller trickles of light… _One – one thousand, two – one thousand, three – one thousand, four – one thousand, five – one thousand, six – one thousand, sev…_ The thunder boom hit, this time louder, closer, the thunder. _Evidence collected, now he knew, the storm was approaching._ Phenomenal, the charge he felt with the realization, the internal planning ahead. He would wake her. They would make love.

"William," her voice scratchy, purred.

"Shh," he urged her, his lips next to her ear, to listen, certainly the thunder would sound.

They held their breath together. **Boommmm**. She heard it, the rumble rippled, lasting and lasting.

"Oh, I do so love a thunderstorm," she whispered to him, slipping up on him, pulling her leg up over him, feeling his readiness through his pajama bottoms with the inside of her tender thigh. "It seems my husband does too," she giggled, as she tucked her face into his neck, and nibbled and kissed, and her body writhed and pushed into his, the fuse lighting. Remembering the time of the month for her, she suggested they go into the shower.

So many reasons, he did not want to, the next flash seemingly only seconds before the thunder.

"I want you now," his voice… his words, sent torrents of lust through her body, spun her brain, wrung her womb so tight it would surely snap. Resistance was futile. She reached down, removed the clothing blocking his access.

He grasped the bottom of her nightgown, lifted, guided the garment, as she ducked her head, and he pulled it up, pulled it off of her. The radiance relative to its proximity, the next lightning strike stole his breath away with the sight of her smooth, naked body. Stunning, she was rolling onto her back in the pure white light of the flashes, yielding to him, eager for him, so gorgeous, the way her breasts bounced and jiggled when her back hit the mattress. William's groin, exponential, the surge of it locking his jaw, teetering his fight against the jolting need to take her in an abandoned rush. He hurried, focused on her as he removed his pajamas.

The weight of him on her, _heavenly_. His arms tucking under her shoulders, clamping on, locking her in place underneath him. His knee, between her thighs. Just the tenderest of requests, he urged her leg aside. _He would… Oh my God, he's going to…_

"Uhhh," her moan so luscious as he pushed in, as he felt her slippery tightness succumb as she melted and molded around him. Her warm, succulent squeeze taking him in, luring him in, drawing him in, further, deeper, their connection, the only thing in all the world.

"William," the burst of fiery air out of her, flowed, hot and moist over his ear, "Please," the desperation of her voice adding impetus to his inertia, to their gravity. His teeth seized the pliable flesh of her shoulder, his fingers, demanding, dug into her flesh, pulled her down to him as he drove up into her, pounded in, pounded in, deeper… so much deeper.

Highlighting their energy, a flash, then, immediately after the quaking whiteness all around, the crack of the thunder rocked the room.

His mouth let her go, his voice in her ear as he started the rhythmical motion that made life worth living. "I love you, Julia," he bared his soul, shoving, holding her in place, his strong biceps firmly straining… so sensual against her ribs, striving to deepen each thrust. He promised her again, "I love you."

His hearty lovemaking, pumping fiercely, forcefully, much as storm-waves rock the shore, each pulsation, a flood rupturing her deeper, only to pull back, teasing her more, raising the pressure, sucking every drop of her back into him, then roaring forward to flood through her once more, cascade through her, again, and again. The amplitude hovered, before the motion switched direction with his next thrust, precariously close the edge.

Inevitable now, having already surpassed the critical level. She could bear it no more. "Please William," she demanded… " _Touch me!"_ she screamed it in her head, "Touch me harder," she groaned, urgent, crucial, into his ear, burrowing her fingernails deeply into his powering haunches, the effort, the desperation, the reach for him, bringing tears to her eyes… and with his next suckback, the breaking point became guaranteed now, she waited, silent, breathless, cherishing the float, having had spent the last ounce of her every fiber wanting him… And she knew, only, that it would come… and she knew, as her brain dizzied with anticipation, that it would be big.

The room imploded with the strike of the perfect lightning bolt, deafening, blinding, the impetus of it gushing William forward into her with all of his might. He erupted, so deliciously sweet, the explosion, soaring, ripple after ripple of pleasure, through his every last spec.

William's low, rumbling moan completed her. She loved him with all of her heart, so that she was certain she could not survive it. Unbearable, the swelling of her love. _Whoom_ … an overwhelming cloudburst trembled through her, her crying deluging into sobbing, breaking his heart.

William's whisper in her ear, in between his kisses, bonding them indestructibly together, "Hold on to me, Julia. I'm right here. I love you. I will always love you… Hold me."

Unable to speak, overwrought, she shook in his arms, clung to him desperately. _Never, never would she ever be able to withstand letting him go. She needed him too much, too much to survive without him. She was certain of it. They had so much to lose, and sometimes, she just couldn't cope with the enormity of it, with the cost, with the fear, to bear it._

Still inside of her, he soothed her, _and reminded himself of her fears, the unreasonable, superstitious ones she voiced reluctantly just this morning, when she admitted to her worries about the premonition and that he would die… up in the airplane, and he remembered too, how she often cried after their intense lovemaking… and after he had faced his death… after she had… almost lost him._

Pouring raindrops pattered on their rooftop, sparkling and rattling the puddles down on the ground outside their opened window, showering nature's drum. She hugged him tight, wrapped herself around him, secured herself in his arms, kept a hold of him inside of her. And he carried her, still intimately entwined together, while she wept herself out, safe in his arms, _so relieved to be in his arms_ , he carried her to the bathroom. He would take them under the warm waterfall of the shower, wash away her tears. The storm had moved away now, lightning strikes no longer a threat, it would be safe now, despite the metal pipes, and the flowing water, both good conductors of electricity, and he would soothe her, he would love her, he would be with her until her internal storm had passed, as well.

Recovering, weak, she told him, "Sometimes I think I'll never stop wanting to be closer to you, William… never."

He pushed her, softly, back into the shower wall, out of the spray of water, lifted her chin, let himself bask in the astounding beauty of her face for a moment. _Breathe… Be with her_. He kissed her, so tender at first, but she grew hungrier, sucked him in. Passions stirred, rose, grew warmer and warmer, there under the cascading stream of water, their steamy love began to plume.

 _Give and take, push and pull, it was the oscillating play between them that built up their lovestorms…_

She pushed back against him, her palms pressed against the firmness of his chest. Her motions so intentional, so seductive, she took the bar of soap in her hands, rubbed, and watched the as the myriad of bubbles, and the creamy liquid, formed…

 _As did he_...

"I think I got you dirty, detective," Julia's voice, lusty in the humid echoes, said.

"Mm," he moaned as much as agreed, "In more ways than one, doctor," he teased about the complaint.

 _Oh, how the world seemed to fall away, his brain whirlpooling into a melty, luscious, soupiness, with her slippery, soapy, sudsy touch. Instantly he reached for her, enlarging, expanding, striving to fill her._

"Julia," his collapsed sound barely audible _, calling for as he surrendered to his yearning._

Delighted, she studied his face and smiled. Mischievously, she asked, with a doubtful eyebrow raised, "Twice, William?"

Actions speaking more than words, William stepped back into the deluging stream, flooded himself free of soap, and then he took her, ardently, there and then, making love to her against the cold, hard shower wall, in the warm, lush, steamy atmosphere of their love.

Scrumptiously spent, clean and fresh, William and Julia went back to sleep. The storms past, they had a few more hours before the next busy day began.

) (

While dressing, William told Julia that he had developed the photographs from yesterday's cargo drop, and that he planned to take them to Pendrick's air-shipping business before going into work. Curious, she asked to see them.

Unable to hide the fact that she was impressed, she gave him her enthusiastic praise. "You could sell these William! Everyone would want to see their house, their street, their schools and their businesses from the air. It gives one an amazing perspective!" she declared.

He wrinkled a corner of his mouth. "Perhaps," he answered. "The blurriness is vastly improved," he offered himself, "And the depth perception is intriguing…"

Julia threw her arms around his waist and squeezed and wiggled against him. "Brilliant once again, detective," she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

Finished preparing for work, and with Claire-Marie seeing to the older ones, Julia went to the back bedroom to wake her baby girl, her little Chelsea. Unbeknownst to her, William watched them from the door. The baby was now first stirring in her crib, bathed in the loving voice of her mother as she spoke softly to her. Chelsea extended her short, chubby legs outward, twisted her tiny little body to the side, and then straightened out her arms as far as she could, filling her baby body with the sweetness of the warm sensation of her blood circulating, flowing through her.

"You're stretching my baby girl, stretching those muscles," her mother's voice encouraged as her hand nestled and rubbed the little baby's plump belly.

Unable to see the baby's face from the door, William relied on his memory to imagine the small child's heartwarming, boundless, smile.

"Oh my, your smile could light up the world my little one," Julia gleamed, lifting the soft, malleable baby into her arms. She indulged in cherishing the smell of her beautiful baby's hair, and rocked her side-to-side, her heart filling with joy and well-being.

Immediately the child reached for her mother's twisty curls, those puffy little fingers entangling and pulling, only one goal in mind, to put the treasure in her mouth. So gently, Julia expertly opened the tiny fingers, freeing her hair.

Just as she was turning to the door, William said, "I find I wonder, Julia, how you could have ever doubted your being a good mother."

She stepped close to him, replying, "It is much easier, William, with you as the father."

 _She meant it… He knew so_ , so he accepted the compliment, and smiled. Uncomfortable, however, he quickly moved on. "Speaking of which, I have been thinking of building them a tree house…"

Leaning back to wholly see him, she interrupted, "Oh William, please… Let's not fight about it…"

William's mind raced to the connection – _time of month! Bad timing, William… bad idea…_

Julia's tone rose towards is customary squeakiness with her upset. "They're too young. Please not now, when I've just dealt with worrying about you falling out of an airplane, and now I also have to worry about them falling out of trees," her squeak cracked, and she needed to take a breath.

He smiled, sincere with a hint of devilishness. "Marry me, Julia Ogden," he said.

He had won her completely, still holding the baby, she stepped into his arms and promised him, "A thousand times over, William… a thousand times over."

Unavoidable, they kissed.

Chelsea, so quickly, had his badge pinched between her teeny fingers, shiny objects being the most enticing for her. The child leaned downward and forward with a wobble from her mother's arms, with every intent of getting the glorious thing into her mouth, prompting Julia to break off their kiss and stop the child's progress.

William shrugged and noted, "It's usually the tie."

Julia widened her eyes gleefully, "I quite love the tie myself." Her eyes perused the male accessory from its perfect knot down to the point where it tucked into his suit's vest. She shifted Chelsea on her hip and then reached over to fiddle with the knot.

Patiently, and truly feeling the customary awakening in his trousers that accompanied such attentions from her, William reached up to stop her.

She could feel William's gaze on her, him pleasantly watching Julia's pretty blue eyes as they drifted, changing targets, settling in on his badge. _She preferred his other one_ , she thought, _but she quickly reminded herself not to say it…_

A keen observer, he noticed, and asked her, taking the replacement badge in his fingers himself now, and changing his focus to consider it, it's newness apparent with the ease of the glide over its unscathed, polished metal, the etched word, _Toronto,_ the only scratch detectible on the smooth surface. "Is something wrong?"

Her eyes bolted to his, then back to the badge. "The older one had more character, is all," she explained.

"Mm," William granted, thinking so as well. He felt the tweak of an unanswered question. "Why were you reluctant to say so?" he pondered.

Julia's sigh warned him to prepare. She lifted her eyes, held hers to his. "I didn't want to remind you… of when you lost the first one," she replied, giving him a wrinkle at the corner of her mouth to apologize.

His responding wrinkle served to admit to her that his troubles with having been abducted still lingered.

" _Done, for now_ ," she decided to herself. With the baby now fully engulfing William's tie, Julia changed the subject. She stepped closer to him again, brought her face, her breath, her lips, closer to his neck. She took a feather-soft breath of him, then said, "I do so love this spicy Chinese scent of you, husband. But, sometimes I wonder… do other women seem as enchanted by it as I? Or perhaps you can't tell, whether it is the scent of you that captures them, for there are _**so many**_ possible reasons women are attracted to you…" she sighed, continuing her teasing, "It's hard to know how much of it is the special aroma… hmm, detective?"

Delighting in his blush, she remembered a remarkable conversation she had had a while ago with George, before he and William had ventured out together to work undercover to solve a case, out in what William called the _Jungle,_ full of men struggling for employment, and traveling the trains fighting to survive. She had asked William's mentee and right-hand man how William handled women propositioning him when she was not around. George had confided in her that William either seemed not to notice their flirtations, or would become annoyed because the women's attraction to him inevitably caused a delay in his progress on the case. Suddenly, _she couldn't help herself_ , she giggled.

Just as William raised an eyebrow at her… child-sized footsteps thundered around the hallway corner, Katie bursting into view. The little three-year-old ran by them. "Mommy! Mommy! Can I wear ruffle dress?" she rushed to get the words out.

Right on the girl's heels, Claire-Marie appeared from around the corner.

Quickly, Katie filed her complaint, "Claire-Marie won't let me," she pouted.

The nanny's walk fast-paced and businesslike, she explained, "It's too nice for playing in the backyard…"

Julia, Chelsea still in her arms, rallied to protest, "It is such a shame that little girls are not allowed to play the way they want to, especially for such a silly reason as it will mess up their clothes."

William bolstered support, offering, "She will surely be riding her new bike. I do not see how she would get so dirty…"

Claire-Marie, exasperated, but also one to often overstep at times, at least according to her elders, stopped and opened her arms. "Monsieur," her use of the French title betraying her impulsiveness and solidifying a connection with the man to whom she spoke, "you know if one is learning to ride a bike, one will fall, do you not?"

William yielded, wrinkling his face. "True," he agreed.

Little Katie had shot ahead, and now hurried to find the beautiful dress with the ruffles in among her others in her drawers. Julia turned and called into the child's bedroom, "Katie, wear your **suit of armor** , please," masterfully maintaining her deadpan delivery.

Immediately, William laughed at her self-deprecating joke. Cockily he took advantage, adding, "Maybe she should save that for treehouse."

Happily, the comment earned him a playful shove.

)

After William had changed his slobbery tie for a drier version, the Murdoch's enjoyed their breakfast together. Before he left, William informed Eloise and Claire-Marie to expect that Mr. Pendrick would be coming by the house later to remove the cargo parachute from the shed. Although it was a long bicycle ride to Pendrick's business, it was a beautiful day and he was not in a rush, so he kissed his wife good-bye and helped her step up into her cab, and then mounted his bike, the photographs of the cargo drop secured inside his jacket.

) (

Arriving at Pendrick's air-shipping establishment, it was obvious to the detective that his friend's crew was in full swing. The entrepreneur was excited and busy. "I have customers, Murdoch!" he declared seeing his fellow inventor. It seemed that, particularly, delivering documents was going to be James Pendrick's forte – people needing to get their paperwork done, signed, and delivered quickly, making his air-delivery business the sole means of meeting their needs in minimal time.

Despite his flourishing business rush, Pendrick could not help himself from becoming interested when Murdoch pulled the photos out from his suit. The two men analyzed them in detail, apparently relishing every minute of it. Soon, talk of flying again came up. Murdoch wanted to improve the Goggle Earth device – the photographs were still fuzzier than he would like and he had an alteration to the design in mind to fix it. "I believe changing the angle of three springs attaching each camera to the belly of the plane, widening them, should give nearly exponential improvement in lowering the effect of the plane's vibrations, thus, much better clarity is possible, I'm sure of it," he said, then paused waiting for the other innovator on the team's feedback.

Considering the turn in his business' demands, now speedy delivery of small packages much more in demand, Pendrick suggested, "Well, Murdoch, it is not unreasonable to complete two test runs of the cargo drop, but, we could test the photography without the drop…"

"Perhaps the… um, the place we saw…" William's unconscious asked before he thought about it.

"Murdoch," Pendrick's concern apparent in his tone, "we agreed to let that be, leave it to the more sinister forces," he reminded, being the one more in control.

 _Of course, mind you, Pendrick had not been abducted, did not have the underlying trauma William had driving him to make it right._

Having had talked the detective out of returning to photograph the secret government airbase, Pendrick agreed to fly again, but wanted to install the Goggle Earth cameras on the belly of one of his smaller, faster planes. It was agreed. Murdoch pulled off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and got to work removing the apparatus from the larger plane, changing to longer springs and installing it on the smaller plane. He was confident he could complete the whole task in a half an hour…

Only about five minutes into the job, one of Pendrick's men came to get the detective at the worktable. Parts strew all over the tabletop, the detective worried that the man might be a spy and made an effort to stand in such a way as to block his view of the cameras.

"Detective Murdoch, there was a phone call for you," the man said, "I took a message. Here's the address." The man handed William a piece of paper. He went on, "You're needed. There's been a murder."

William read the address. It was quite close to here. "Would I be able to make a call before I go?" he asked, beginning to pack up the Google Earth pieces in a box to leave for Pendrick to store in a safe place.

"Yes," the answer came, "It's in Mr. Pendrick's office. I'll leave the door open." Quickly, he was gone.

Meeting with Pendrick quickly before he took his leave, it was decided that it would be best for William to keep the photographs from the cargo drop, being that Pendrick was more likely to be infiltrated by spies than Murdoch was. The detective called the stationhouse and arranged for George to meet him at the scene, and to bring his murder bag, and to phone Julia at the morgue to send her as well. Photos tucked inside his jacket, he pedaled his way to the crime scene.

Pendrick's business was in a quite hilly area, and William was finding his muscles feeling the strain. Truth be told, he loved the feeling – it somehow making him feel more alive to have to strive. The incline he climbed right now was impressive, formidable really, and he was grateful to see the bulge at the top coming into view. Anticipation grew inside of him… It would likely be a steep decline on the other side. The boy in him sought the thrill! Already standing, using his weight to add to the force of pedaling, William dug in, pumped with all his might to pick up speed, gain momentum, for the last 100 feet to the climax.

The effort triggered a memory, surging through his mind, of the last night's thunderstorm… and making love to Julia - twice, his brain – his body – momentarily captured by the memories of the powerful sensations of so lusciously thrusting into her with absolutely everything he had. His legs threatened to seize with the screaming pain of the exertion. Almost there… peak in sight, I'll fly over the bump, gravity will shift…

 _ **Whooosh…**_

Hat in hand, arms spread out like the wings of a hawk, William soared with the riding of the huge wave of his pure joy, _wind and speed_ , and sheer happiness.

) (

At first the small, dilapidated house seemed abandoned, and William wondered if he had the right address. However, he spotted the body on the floor through the small window of the front door. _There was blood, seemingly a shot to the chest_ , he noted, before he had even entered the house. Once inside, it was clear that the house was occupied, scantily decorated, but the essentials were present, a small dingy sofa, table, two chairs… On the table, there was a single cigarette butt. William took out his handkerchief to collect it. Then he noticed a sprinkling of a brown dusty material which he collected as well. Checking in the bedroom… a bed…

 _ **Click…**_

 _The sound of the gun being cocked registered simultaneously with the hard poke of the thin metallic cylinder to the back of his head._

Instantly, William raised his hands slowly in the air. _His heart thundered rapidly in his chest, adrenalin pumped, his mind rushed. There was another man in the corner of the bedroom… Oh God, and another!_

From behind him he heard the threat, "I'd just as soon pull the trigger as not."

The third man that William had spotted, from within the deepest in the shadows of the small bedroom, spoke. "Detective Murdoch, ve meet again…"

 _William's fear ruptured with his instantaneous aversion to the man's voice, the accent familiar – German!_

 _He needed to think…_ _ **"My God William think!"**_ he screamed at himself. _He was being abducted again. There was no doubt. By the same people. A hundred miles per hour the thoughts came._

The sound of a carriage outside, a horse's hoofbeats, a snort, alerted all of them to the arrival.

" _ **Julia!"**_ William panicked.

Voices… male…

 _William recognized it as George._

A second carriage, _and William's heart sunk with the certainty that now his wife's life was in danger._

The man closest to the window peeked out. "Constabulary, sir commandant," he informed.

"Do you see Dr. Ogden?" the man in charge asked…

 _ **Bolting William's heart into sheer frenzy…**_

He did.

 _ **Oh my God, he did!**_ _Terror struck, as William's mind went flying this way and that all at once. He would grab the wrist behind him holding the gun, bend forward, twist and flip the man… Probably not get shot…_ Breathless with the panic…

 _ **Click…**_ and then quickly, another, _**Click…**_

" _ **Three guns! Three guns now!"**_ William felt dizzy with it. " _Scream out! Tell them to stay back!"_ he tried a different plan…

"Do not attempt to alert zem to our presence here, Detective Murdoch, or your beautiful vife vill be shot in her pretty head," the captors' plans were made clear.

The Commandant barked out his orders, "Schultz, in ze hall closet! Door ajar, aim at ze lady's head! Klemp! Outside in ze back, aim your gun at ze fräulein through ze window. Stay low. Shoot ze vife of ze detective, here, if necessary. Aim at her head…"

The evil leader turned his attention to William and whispered, "I vill be in here, detective, gun at ze ready, I promise you. No one comes in here. Say nothing… NOTHING! If you want your lovely vife to live. Yes, she is a good doctor. She saved you. But she will not be able to treat herself once shot in ze head, I promise you. Ve vill be listening. Ve vill kill her, if need be. Ze others as well."

 _Vanished, all around him only air… unbreathable, too thin the air… too bright… warped somehow…_

Stunned, William felt instantly alone. He rushed to the front door. They were already there. He opened it. _His own breathing so loud… terrifying_. _**He needed to act calmly**_ _._

"George," the detective greeted, "Constable Milton…"

Directly behind them, _**oh how he wished it wasn't so… Julia,**_ _**he almost cried with the sight of her, his heart wrenching in his chest. So beautiful, her little black doctor's bag in her hands…**_

"Detective," she gave him a nod.

"Doctor," he replied… in his head _**evaluating his own performance. Sounded professional,**_ **he thought,** _ **like normal.**_

"Oh, George… uh, we won't be needing the murder bag. Send it back to carriage," the detective instructed. _William's eyes glanced to the_ _ **hall closet, zing – a sharp slice through his body**_ _recognizing the significance of the thin dark line of the slightly-opened door._

Crabtree's detectiving instincts pushed him to consider the scene in an effort to determine Detective Murdoch's decision about his murder bag. " _Does seem somewhat straightforward_ ", he reasoned to himself, noting the bullet wound to the heart of the victim on the floor.

"Yes sir," he replied. "Constable, please take the detective's bag back to the carriage," he said, handing the murder bag to the other member of the Constabulary at the scene, adding, "And help Tom prepare to collect the body."

"Doctor," William invited his wife to check the body, opening his hand out to the side, guiding her that direction. _Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that_ _ **George was perusing the rest of the house. An electric shock surged through him. About to scream out, "NO!"**_ _he warned himself not to alert them to the danger…_

William cleared his throat, swallowed. "I already checked the place," he told George. Needing to distract him, William offered the only evidence he had found before he had discovered the trap. William pulled his balled-up handkerchief out of his suit jacket pocket and opened it wide in his hands for the constable to see. "I did find this," he said.

 _Just a quick dart of his eyes over to Julia. She was squatted down over the body, doing what she does, temperature and rigor assessment, etc. Couldn't help himself, glanced to the window…_ _ **Zing the zap of pain through his body again with the sight of the barrel of the gun**_ _, so well masked at the bottom corner of the window, barely visible through the thin curtain that was wrinkled to the edges of the window frame._

William put his eyes back on George's face. He found he needed to clear his throat again. "Try to determine the brand of the cigarette. And we'll need to analyze the powdery substance… Um, perhaps Dr. Ogden…" He handed George the handkerchief.

The two of them joined the doctor in squatting over the body. Julia began to give him her initial report, "The victim has been dead for between twelve to twenty-four hours…"

William, almost interrupting her, said, "It seems he has suffered the same demise…" the slightest pause, he swallowed, _he was taking a chance – in leaving a clue_ , "…as the first man, um, the one we thought performed the flying cannonball act at Terrell Jacob's Circus."

She looked at him funny. George did too.

"Well sir, I don't see any…"

"William… Detective Murdoch," Julia corrected the way she addressed him when working, "This man was shot in the heart. There's no obvious connection… But, if anything, he's much more like Wimm…"

 _ **William's heart flung up into his throat!**_ _ **They'd hear! They'd shoot her!**_

"Yes," he interrupted her curtly… then, held her eyes a little too long.

A puzzled expression arose on her face, and he turned away, his attention back down on the body. He asked, _**praying with all his might that she follow him away from the subject he had, so stupidly, brought up,**_ "Did the bullet exit the chest, doctor?"

Her voice misty with the air of mystery around, she answered, "No… No, detective. I'll have it for you once I perform the postmortem."

George found a card in the dead man's wallet. He held it up, read it aloud, "Mr. Adam Trappe, 113 Waters Place…"

Detective Murdoch shook his head and chuckled. "Thank you, George," he said, taking the card and putting it in his pocket.

"May I take the body now, detective?" Julia asked.

 _William's heart erupted with the_ _ **tug of war inside of him, for she would go**_ _, and she would_ _ **survive this nightmare**_ _, and she would go and he would likely_ _ **never see her again**_ _. There was a swelling, a heat, brewing behind his eyes._ He swallowed back the urge to cry.

Still, his voice was scratchier than usual as he replied, "Yes doctor."

Already…

 _It was all happening so fast._

The men had the body… now out the door.

 _She would go._

"I'll see you with my initial report, then," she said, as she usually would… from the door, looking back at him, giving her parting nod, waiting for his charming tip of the hat in response…

In the center of the room William remained with Crabtree. _Suddenly, there would never be enough time in all the world…_ He made her wait _,_ as he instructed, "Constable, I believe you should give the administrators at the University a visit."

He heard Julia huff. _Not that uncommon, her husband so wrapped up in the case he forgot his manners,_ she thought to herself.

"Why, sir?" George asked.

 _ **Julia had turned to leave!**_ Unbearable the thought of it, William called her back, "Julia…"

As he rushed to the door he explained to George, "Our victim was wearing a blue-colored tie and had a college ring." William stiffly parked himself between Julia and the guns behind him.

"Of course, sir. That makes sense," George answered him… _unheard._

William stepped close to her. "I didn't want to let you go without saying goodbye." He tilted his head, leaned in, kissed her… _**goodbye to the love of his life**_ … on her tender lips. His inhale deep, behind her ear, he whispered "I love you." And then he stepped back, gave her his admitting it face. She looked confused. He turned abruptly to Crabtree, remaining firmly between her and the bullets, knowing that behind him she turned away, she left.

"You can take the carriage, Constable. I have my bicycle. Stop at the University on your way," he made his requests for the next steps on the case.

As Julia's carriage pulled away from the scene, victim's body loaded, the postmortem at hand usually occupying her mind, she wondered to herself about William's odd behavior, kissing her at crime scene. " _Perhaps left over emotions from last night – the thunderstorm, the passion, all her crying… Twice,_ " she thought, with a small, Leonardo-Da-Vinci's-Mona-Lisa, smile growing at the corners of her mouth.

) (

While George was at the University, he and Constable Milton found no one of that name who worked there, attended there, now, or in the records from the past ten years. He did, however, find a Chemistry professor willing to analyze the powder collected at the crime scene. They headed back to the stationhouse, at least not completely emptyhanded. George would begin right away trying to identify the brand of the cigarette. His mind drifted. " _Why the circus?_ " he wondered.

) (

While performing the autopsy, it was Miss James who noticed it first. There were peculiar burn marks on the victim's fingers. Dr. Ogden proceeded to examine the dead man's fingers more closely. "You're right Miss James," she exclaimed, "That is very strange." She decided to give William a call.

Alarm rang through her, _though she deemed it unreasonable_ , upon finding that he had not returned to the station yet. " _Detective William Murdoch is very thorough_ ," she advised herself, " _He is likely simply chasing down the oddest, most miniscule of clues… and one of those tiny little things that irks him will end up being the clue that breaks the whole case open,"_ she attempted at self-reassurance. It haunted her though, his goodbye kiss…

Back working on the autopsy, her plan to wait for William to stop by to receive her initial findings, the doctor was edgy. Enough so that Rebecca eventually asked, "Is everything alright, doctor?" after yet another uncustomary criticism.

Dr. Ogden put her scalpel down on the morgue slab with a sigh. "I'm sorry Miss James," she apologized. "I guess I am out of sorts," she began to explain, considering confiding in the young woman about her unfounded fears. She looked into Miss James' big, dark eyes, and just in that moment she decided to forgo her pride and give in to her ' _womanly instincts_.'

Seemingly speaking to the whole world rather than specifically to Rebecca, Julia insisted, "Something's not right. I know it," she stated outright. The doctor asked Miss James to continue working, she was going over to talk with the Inspector about the case.

Worried, the Inspector called Crabtree into his office. George had noted that Dr. Ogden had come to the station and gone into his superior's office, and it was his nature to be curious, so he had also noticed that she seemed upset. He greeted her, "Doctor," somehow his expression conveying his compassion.

The Inspector seemed to be in a rush. "Anything seem out of sorts with Murdoch at the crime scene this morning, bug-a-lugs?" he asked.

Inside George's head, and his heart, a mix of emotions spurted about – fear for the detective, _who had not yet returned and George now felt more certain that he should have_ … and a twang of embarrassment, _for what he was about to say was uncomfortable_ …

"I did think it odd the detective wanted, err, to kiss the doctor, sir," George said, risking a glance at Dr. Ogden to apologize. Hurrying to explain, he said, "He doesn't usually do that. And he… well sir, he basically told me _**not**_ to look around. Now Detective Murdoch is of a mind that you can never investigate the crime scene too much, sir, as you know. So I found that odd… Um, even if he had already checked the area before I had arrived."

"Well, did he say anything? Where he was going?" the Inspector's tone showed his annoyance was rising.

 _Used to the pressures of dealing with his Inspector, George managed to calm himself enough to think about the question. He remembered handing the detective the victim's card from his wallet_. "Oh… Yes, sir. He had the name and address – probably of the victim, he thought… or I thought…"

"What was it!" the Inspector barked, losing patience.

"What was what, sir?" George asked.

Steam now out his ears, the Inspector yelled, "The man's name!"

"Oh, now let me see," George mumbled, "It was one of those names… kind of common…" He turned inward, trying to remember.

"I heard you read it out too, George," Julia said. "I remember thinking it was like another victim, the man you and William went undercover, as hoboes into the _Jungle_ on the case for…"

"Oh, I'd have to disagree doctor," George replied.

The Inspector's complexion grew redder.

"No… not at all doctor. I don't recall the name sounding Lithuanian – like Baltavesky…" the constable's use of the Lithuanian victim's name from a previous case striking memory in both Dr. Ogden and Inspector Brackenreid. He had continued, "It was much shorter… Started with a 'T' I think."

The Inspector was feeling stressed, attempting to relieve it by telling himself there was no good reason to panic. " _Murdoch had his ways, slow as molasses… Often goes off somewhere chasing down some inane, indecipherable clue… Less so since he married the doctor and they had the bairn…"_ he sighed and poured himself a scotch. He and the doctor sharing a drink at times, he tilted the bottle at her. She declined.

"Trappe! That's it, Trappe, but spelled weird, like the French do with _shoppe_ ," excited, George called out.

The doctor added, her memory responding to George's catalyst, " **Adam** Trappe… Like **Adam** Baltavesky, of Adamos and Ieva, remember?"

"Yes doctor! Yes I do," George exclaimed. "And, I remember the address – 113 Waters… something," he added.

"Well, don't just stand there you daft bugger. Take Kingsley and go," the Inspector ordered.

George rushed out.

The Inspector turned to the doctor and asked, "What was it you found, that you were looking for the detective about?"

"Oh yes, um, well it turns out that our victim has had his fingermarks…" she tilted her head and wrinkled her face in doubt or strain, "removed."

"Removed? How?" the man marveled.

"They had been burned with acid, it appears. Now if I know William…"

"And you do," the Inspector said with a wink.

Unable to help herself, _it touched her the man knowing of her special connection with his detective,_ Julia smiled. She went back to answering his question, "He would ask if they were removed pre or post- mort…"

"Inspector! Doctor?" George ran back in…

"Crabtree?" Brackenreid asked, finding his curiosity outweighed his frustration with the man.

George reminded himself to take a breath, to slow down. "Well sir, I was thinking…"

" _Never good_ ," the Inspector groaned to himself.

"Detective Murdoch sort of… chuckled, when I read the name on the card…" he said.

"Chuckled?" the Inspector checked.

"Yes sir. And as you know, well I'm sorry to say doctor," George sidelined looking to Julia for a moment, "but I'm sure you know it's true, well," his eyes back to the Inspector now, "the detective has a somewhat serious attitude, and I thought it was odd that he would laugh then. And so, I asked myself _why_. And, well, it's just that I'm sure the detective recognized it, when I read the name, immediately he saw it, 'Adam Trappe,' sir…" Crabtree looked expectantly at the two of them.

"Do you recognize the name doctor?" the Inspector asked, turning to Julia, for it meant nothing to him.

"No…" she replied, shaking her head, wondering.

George opened his arms inviting them to try harder, then shrugged with frustration, stamped his foot and blurted, "A Damn Trap!"

"Bloody hell!" the Inspector declared, "Of course Murdoch would get that."

Julia nodded, for she too knew that William would.

And it sank in and landed with all of them…

Julia being the one to voice it, that, "He laughed because he already knew."

Everyone heard it in her voice, she was choking up. She was scared.

"Now doctor, don't you worry. He's a smart bloke, your husband, and he'll probably work something out. And we've got some clues to go on. You get back to that autopsy, hmm?" he looked her in the eye and waited for her to nod.

"Crabtree, I'll join you, let's break out the armory, for this "trap" and we'll need to bring more constables…" he ordered, the whole Constabulary whipping up into action.

) (

The Sun was low in the sky by the time the three of them met again in the Inspectors' office. Julia shared with the other two her thoughts. "William was saying goodbye to me – he knew. He knew because his abductors were there…" She dropped her head down, said it so low they barely heard it, "Or his murderers." She took a deep breath, lifted her chin and went on, "They were there, I think, hiding…" her eyes brightened with recognizing a connection, "That's why William didn't want George to look around…" the light dimmed, her voice lowered, "That's why he told me goodbye, and had that… look…"

 _Julia fell into her despair as she thought it,_ _ **that the final look in his eyes would haunt her forever.**_

 _Both men's hearts wrenched in their chests with the ache of it_. Drawing away the pain, distracting from it, getting back to working the case, the Inspector looked pleadingly at George, standing up to accent his plan of taking action instead of falling into helplessness. "We need to think like Murdoch," he stated confidently. "There are things we know. For instance, do we think the cases are linked? That Murdoch would get abducted _**twice**_?! And if so, by the same people?" he asked.

Crabtree took the ball. "Well, we found his bike still at the original crime scene. So, he did not leave there of his own accord. And…" _thank God, he thought_ , "There was only the blood of the victim…"

"And no sign of a struggle," the Inspector added. Thinking ahead, planning to reassure the man's wife, he said, "And so there's a good chance they were there to capture Murdoch rather than kill him. But, are the two cases linked?"

Her voice was almost ghostly as she said it, Julia told, "They're linked. Today, at the crime scene, William alluded to this victim being like the man shot from a cannon at the circus…"

Brackenreid became flustered, asking, "But this victim had a bullet in his head heart?!"

George jumped on it. "Well, that's true, sir! That's why it was so odd for Detective Murdoch to say the two cases were alike… It had to be that the detective was leaving us a clue," he added.

The Inspector's logic fought the impulse to jump to conclusions. He would voice it, but tactfully… _well as tactfully as Brackenreid was able._ "You two are trying too hard. We are asking about a connection between this case and Murdoch's abduction. What does the case of Schiergen, who wasn't shot out of a cannon but instead fell from a plane, by the way, have to do with Murdoch's abduction?!" he found in the end his voice betrayed his frustration. "And what would any of that have to do with this case!?" he insisted.

Julia answered, "William's clue connects all three cases, sir. You see, William always said he thought that Schiergen's case was connected to Wimmer's case – remember? William's supposed abductor was the victim lying in my morgue, a man with the false identity of Wimmer… Terrence Meyers took that case from us, stole the spy's body and took all the evidence… Just like Meyers did again after that, when Schiergen's body was the one in my morgue…" Julia checked, they were with her so far.

She went on, "Well, the man pretending to be Wimmer had been shot in the heart, just like this…" her hands flung up in the air and her eyes started to swell, "like this _**Trappe**_ man. Meyers had told us William didn't have to worry about his abductors anymore because the man who had abducted him was dead!" Julia's voice had begun to squeak. She was terribly upset, tears so close. "The bullets will probably match-up between the fake Wimmer and this fake Trappe!" she declared, "But, of course, we'll never know, because Meyers took the evidence we had from Wimmer…" she was feeling the hopelessness close in, "William said he thought he was being followed… all this time. I don't think Meyers was right! The man who abducted him wasn't dead! He has him again!" panic won out.

Julia collapsed down onto the Inspector's couch… _where she usually sat with William… and she never would again. And her mind raced away with her… How would she tell the children?!_

Compassion tugged at the two men. They shared a look. George sat down next to her on the couch, the Inspector squatted down to look her in the eye. "Don't you give up hope so easily doctor. I know you better than that. Murdoch married a tough cookie," he encouraged.

George spoke up, "It's good news, doctor, that it's the same people who took him before. They don't want to kill him. He's alive. And we'll find him…"

She sniffled, and the Inspector fished out a handkerchief for her. It hurt so when she giggled, reminding herself how, somehow, William Murdoch always seemed to have a perfectly clean, white handkerchief available whenever and wherever she needed it. She wiped her nose, her eyes, and nodded talking herself into it. "Yes. Yes, of course you're right," she said.

The constable from the front desk knocked on the door. A report had just come in, James Pendrick was missing too.

"That cannot be a coincidence," the inspector declared.

"No sir," George exclaimed, "Whoever it is… they want both of them," he figured.

It was silent for a moment, as minds worked.

Suddenly, George hurried to tell, "They were working on something together. I saw it on the detective's blackboard, all drawn out in chalk. They were using the detective's scrutiny cameras and there was something that looked like that baby bouncer contraption the detective made a while ago… I remember! They wrote the name of it on the board, "Goggle Earth!"

The Inspector began to protest, once again, against George's zany ideas….

But Dr. Ogden interrupted, "The goggles were to be stereoscopes," she told them. "That is the link, I think, between all the cases," she said, clearly getting the attention of the others. "As you'll remember, William found aerial photographs in Schiergen's flat. That's what got William thinking about making a better aerial camera," she explained the connection, adding, "And Pendrick let him install it on one of his planes. They photographed a cargo drop at our house, just yesterday. But I think it's more than that," she felt the lines between the dots joining, "William was letting us know, when he mentioned the cannon and the circus today, that his suspicions that Schiergen's case, and his own case of being abducted, along with the case of his supposed abductor – the spy using the alias of Wimmer, and now this second abduction – of both William and Pendrick – are all connected!" she concluded.

Julia called home and asked Eloise and Claire-Marie to take care of the children, telling them there was an emergency and she and William would not be coming home tonight. She and George and the Inspector, and nearly all the constables in Stationhouse #4 would work through the night. Murdoch's life depended on their finding him. They now had abundant clues, for there were many cases involved, and in the end they all linked to this one.

They had one really big problem though, there was only one man who had taken away most of the evidence they needed, and as William had told Julia so many, many, nights ago, "experience tells you can't get in touch with a spy. It seems the spy must come to you."

The Inspector tried to reassure everyone… Meyers would turn up soon enough. He had already stopped their work on this case… why just think of it, so far, it seemed he had done so **TWICE**.

) (


	13. 13: The Film

Back to the Drawing Board_13_

) (

Having only been home to Margaret to sleep for three or four hours, Inspector Brackenreid entered Stationhouse #4 with the morning Sun. Murdoch had been missing for nearly 24 hours now, and he knew that with each moment that passed his main man's odds of being found alive decreased. Crossing the bullpen towards Crabtree, who was still hunched over at his desk, he wondered if the constable had slept at all. The man seemed to be in exactly in the same spot he had left him in late last night, looking through photos of known criminals with the hope of recognizing the dead man on the good doctor's morgue slab. Crabtree had been optimistic that the fact that the man, falsely identified as Adam Trappe, had removed his fingermarks likely implied that the victim would be well known to the Constabulary. The Inspector put his package down on a neighboring desk, drawing the constable's attention.

Crabtree lifted his head and greeted, "Oh, good morning Inspector."

"Crabtree," Brackenreid replied, "Is Dr. Ogden in there?" he said, his blue eyes gesturing to the detective's door. He had noted that the door was closed and all the blinds were pulled down.

George stood and joined the Inspector in looking at the missing man's office. "Yes sir," he answered, "She's sleeping in the detective's reclining chair."

"You slept here too, bug-a-lugs?" the head of the stationhouse asked.

George suddenly grew a bit nervous. "Uh, yes… Yes sir. I hope it's alright. I slept on your couch… Um, it was just for a few hours sir. I didn't want to leave the doctor alone…"

Brackenreid gave the constable a pat on the back. "Good man," was all he said.

Relieved, George relaxed. His eyes back to the detective's closed door, his thoughts returned to Dr. Ogden on the other side of the door. "I heard her crying, I think, last night sir," he said quietly, sadly. George glanced over at the Inspector's face. The Englishman's face solemn, he too seemed to be contemplating the suffering of the woman inside. George explained further, "The doctor was… um, reluctant…" he took a deep breath and continued, "She said she had lots of memories associated with the chair, and I tell you sir, it just about broke my heart." George sighed. "I think she was remembering that night, you'll remember sir, when she and the detective spent the night there together, um, after they'd had a big row…

"The detective had punched Dr. Garland…" Brackenreid told, remembering.

George leaned closer to the Inspector and lowered his voice even more. "You know, Hodge had told me that they fought because the doctor figured Garland would never grant her a divorce after Murdoch had done something so stupid…"

The Inspector nodded, _it seemed to be a reasonable concern…_

"Supposedly, sir, detective Murdoch got quite angry about it… Even said that they wouldn't have had to worry about it if she hadn't married Garland in the first place…"

 _That seemed reasonable too…_

A part of George seemed to be enjoying the gossip. He added, "And then she yelled at him for not choosing her… You see sir, I had given him Dr. Ogden's note – in time for him to stop the wedding, but… well then, well I don't know…" George sighed again, "Well, you know already… about what happened, after the wedding Constance Gardner had escaped and Murdoch was gone. I guess, well maybe the doctor figured he'd made his choice to live his life without her…" George finished with a shrug, unsure.

Cheerier, subconsciously pushing himself to hide what he knew about Murdoch and Constance Gardner, the Inspector said, "Well, it seems they had made up after, hmm?" he made a suggestive clicking sound, almost winked, and then bumped into Crabtree's shoulder.

A corner of Crabtree's mouth curled. He had always hoped that was what the detective and the doctor had been doing together in that reclining chair that night.

Brackenreid thought about the doctor, there in that chair now, and how such a memory would be painfully bittersweet in a moment like this. He sighed.

It was George who voiced it though, "I feel just awful, sir. Do you think we'll find him?"

Brackenreid fought against his doubt, exhaling sharply. "I think we're going to need Meyers, Crabtree. All this spy mumbo jumbo…" the Inspector shook his head, "There's just too much we don't know. I've been thinking about it. There's only one way I know to get in touch with Meyers, and that's through the Prime Minister. I've already decided. I'm going to call him… as soon as it's not quite so blasted early in the morning."

Changing the subject, Brackenreid rubbed his belly contentedly. "Speaking of which, constable, Margaret made extra breakfast – enough for you and the good doctor, I'm sure. Put on the kettle, heh?" he said, motioning over to Higgins' desk at the basket.

"That was very thoughtful of Mrs. Brackenreid. It smells delicious, sir. Err, but I believe that Dr. Ogden prefers coffee. Uh… I think I'll go get her some… after I start the tea, sir," he answered.

"Too bitter for my tastes," the Inspector said, making an unpleasant face.

"Well, on that you and the detective would agree, sir," the constable replied… and then it suddenly occurred to George that he might never see Detective Murdoch again, and the thought bothered him so he needed to push it aside.

"I'll get right to it, sir," he said, shifting into action, beginning the tea.

Over on the other side of the wall, Julia woke from a restless sleep. Thoroughly, all through her body, drowned into every cell, she felt the heaviness, the fear, the sense that there was something horribly, horribly, wrong, as if she were buried in an unspeakable darkness that smothered away her ability to breathe… Before she had determined where she was… Before she remembered… that William was gone.

Awareness, sunk deeper into her, and tears formed. She swallowed and fought to survive the onslaught of emotions, swallowed, and told herself to breathe, but, so certain the sting would destroy her, she held her breathe, until a dark dizziness threatened her balance and she gasped in the sharp air, and it burned the insides of her lungs all the way up to her throat, and she had to just tolerate it, praying the next breath would not hurt as badly… And it didn't, and her mind moved on to the next thought.

She was in his office. In his beautiful reclining chair. The one where they had laid together after a night of talking through that terrible fight, and the next morning William had been with her when she had had one of her sexy dreams, and she had had an orgasm… It was the first time he knew… intimately, of her intense passion, and how very strongly she desired him, for she had called out _his name_ in her sleep – as she always did – the tendency so common that it had infuriated Darcy to the degree that he taken to sleeping in a separate room from her… She remembered her sweet teasing of him that morning, after waking in his arms, asking him, "How does it feel to know you are the man of my dreams, detective?" And how beautiful his luscious blush and his undeniable pride were when they got all mixed together… And she had fallen even more deeply in love with him right there and then.

She flashed a memory, of being in the chair with him while they shared heart-to-heart, William's big eyes, pooled with tears swelling behind those amazing lashes of his. It was only the second time she had seen him cry, previously only their final talk before she had left him for Buffalo had burned her soul so deeply. Julia pushed to remember what they had been talking about… what had hurt him so badly from back then that he told her while they shared their deepest truths – here in this very same chair. _Oh, she remembered_ , it was when she had told him how much it had hurt her to see him with Enid Jones, here in this office – she remembered now, from the other side of the windows… And he had said, so quietly then, that it was like when he saw her with Darcy at the fair.

Oh, how she wanted to stop this crying. " _Think of something else_ ," her own advice came. Julia looked around his office, hoping to land on an object, something real, and present in the world right now, to ground on, to use to pull herself out of despair. The curtains at the sides of his backroom… And a flood of memories roared over her, memory after memory after memory… How matter-of-fact he had been about the horrendous stink in his office, and then how proudly he had showed her his rotting liver and his hatched pupae, that he used to discover that the body had been kept on ice and thus the victim had died 5 days sooner than originally believed… And then another flicker, and they were together in the secluded backroom, as he dropped a heavy hunk of clay in her hands back in his little nook of his office, and then he hunted for a particular book – by Wilhelm His – to tell her about a method of facial reconstruction she could use based on average flesh depths, and they were able to give a face to a skull.

Her eyes caught sight of William's drawing board. _My God, so many times she had seen him there, at the board!_ When she and Darcy came to say goodbye, and then William suggested she stay. _Oh, how she knew at that moment, her heart screaming for joy with the knowing that she would still be near him, she felt in her bones then, that she would never love another_. So often, she would watch him from the door, admiring, lusting… loving. Tears welling again, she switched her gaze. Her eyes lingered on his worktable, and the memory played before her, clear as day, she saw it. She had burst wildly through that door right there, _she remembered_ , she was wearing her blue dress… They were both so young, and so in love! Him, so handsome she could barely stand it. She had bought him a present – a bullet extractor. Boldly, she kissed him, then… Delicious, he was so hungry for her, the way he asked for more… after she had kissed him. Higgins had come in… Rumors had spread. And more tears had formed in her eyes again.

Like an electric bolt, Julia stood… _needing to turn the page_. She looked out his window. He could see her morgue from here… And she remembered it again, the sight from out in the street with Emily, late, after she and William had had their big fight, and she saw his light on in here, so very late, and her heart ached knowing he was in here hurting after such an upsetting, dreadful fight... And she knew, they had to make it right.

A deep breath. " _He's out there somewhere_ ," she encouraged herself that he was still alive. " _You need to find him._ "

Madam Celeste's voice sounded in her head, ominous, making her prediction, " _Julia Ogden will save this man, her one and only, predestined lover, William Murdoch, one more time before their lives are through. And she will save him from Air."_

 _My God_ , she felt panic seeping in, " _How can I save him if I'm on the ground? I don't see how…"_

)

George was once again at his desk assessing photo after photo, sometimes the offender's file only having a sketch to offer, after returning from purchasing a cup of coffee for the doctor, for whenever she would wake, and one for himself as well. He was ravenous, and was working against the distraction of his recurring urge to devour Mrs. Brackenreid's gift of breakfast, forcing himself to wait for her. Thus, he was enormously grateful when he heard the detective's door open.

He jumped up and greeted, "Good morning doctor… Uh, Mrs. Brackenreid made us breakfast…"

The delectable aromas seemed to sink directly into Julia's salivary glands as his words registered, and she realized that she was starving, and she remembered she hadn't eaten since yesterday at breakfast. "My, it smells good," she responded _. And a thought emerged and then drifted away, that maybe William hadn't eaten since then either…_

"Oh, and doctor, your housekeeper dropped by," he rushed to say, lifting a suitcase from alongside his desk. "With a change of clothes…"

Oh," she asked, then wondered, "Did she put clothes in there for William as well?"

"Yes, err, she said for both of you," he answered.

 _Eloise thought William was here too…_ Julia answered her own thought, _and the children thought so too…_

Julia suggested they eat at William's worktable. It seemed each of them preferred to tread far away from the topic of how worried they each were about William Murdoch. The conversation lulled, and Julia found herself gazing over at William's blackboard. It was blank as could be, and it occurred to her, that if William were here working on this case, it would probably be quite crowded with clues categorized and arranged in a way to help think it all through.

Inspired by the thought, she jumped up and rushed to pick up a piece of chalk. She explained as she drew, "William would probably start with circles up at the top of the board – one for each case… And then he would put the clues from each case under them, and he would draw any connections, stating what each one was…" Her tone grew excited.

George got caught up in the wave. "Great idea Dr. Ogden," he declared. "But… I wonder…"

She stopped writing and turned to him, waiting.

"Well… I just think it might be four cases. Well, we have three dead bodies and the detective's abduction…"

Julia questioned his thinking. "But Meyers told us Mr. Wimmer, well the man with Wimmer's identification anyway, was William's captor. So, wouldn't they be part of the same case?" she asked.

George argued. "Not necessarily… connected certainly, uh, but there would be different clues involved. I mean somebody shot Wimmer in the heart, and if what Meyer's told us is true, then somebody had reason to kill Detective Murdoch's captor… In your husband's abduction case, we have fingermarks that were on his bike that did not match the man pretending to be Wimmer's…"

Indicating she agreed, Julia turned back to the board and erased the left bubble, replacing it with two smaller ones, creating a timeline at the top of the board of the four cases.

"I see," she grasped it now, "And the drug that was in William's blood… an alkaloid from the nightshade family is another clue from this case." Julia returned to organizing and recording clues on the board. Deciding it was worth writing, though she had not been able to identify it, she wrote, "sweet smell," under the bubble for William's abduction. Then she added, "Blood drained and naked… and then "returned wallet and hat," and "fingermarks on bike."

"You see doctor, there might end up being a connection," George offered, "If, perhaps, the dusty powder the detective found on the table of the man with the "Trappe" card in this last case ends up being similar to the drug used on the detective. We should be able to tell that. I left the sample to be analyzed at the University yesterday."

Julia remembered William handing George the powder and a cigarette butt rolled up in his handkerchief yesterday. Her tone changed, now sadder, more forlorn, she said, "Yes… Yes, that's right. William gave it to you." She swallowed back the swelling emotions for she now knew that William's captors were there at the time… And he knew it… And he was pretending everything was fine so she could get away, and George could get away… And he probably knew that he would be taken. She sighed and offered, "I could have the same man at the University who analyzed the drug in William's blood take a look at that sample too…" She took a deep breath, preparing to press on. "I'll call him as soon as I get back over to the morgue."

Suddenly the task of completing the clues on William's board seemed daunting. She was not want for doing such a thing often, but she decided to ask for help. "Um, George, do you think perhaps you and the Inspector could… finish, um…"

George rushed forward reaching for the chalk. "Of course, doctor. Of course. I'll go get the Inspector. His eyes transferred over to the suitcase that Eloise had brought over with fresh clothes. "You err, well…"

"Yes. Thank you George. I'll head over to the morgue to change and face the new day," Julia said, forcing a smile.

George reassured her, "Doctor, I'll come get you the moment we hear anything."

She lifted the suitcase and turned back to him. "Thank you George…" she sighed, began to leave, but then paused. Her eyes, sometimes so strikingly beautiful, touched the constable's. "Promise me George," she held, "Whether the news is good or bad…"

He felt the temptation. It would be there, if they heard bad news, not to want to tell her, thus he solemnly understood the challenge of her request. "I promise," he replied… And the doctor turned and left.

) (

Memories of William played, unavoidable it seems, in Julia's mind in the morgue as well. The sound of the big, morgue door slamming behind her, rammed her with memories of all the times she had heard it make that sound when William rushed in… The desk where she had imagined he ravaged her when she was about to marry Darcy… And where she wholeheartedly fell off the cliff, head over heels, completely, irreversibly, in love with him because he knew how to give her confidence, focus, and comfort after being traumatized by being attacked and then having to kill, with a pair of scissors, Harlen Orgill, aka Detective Scanlon… The worktable where they tested so many things together, from poisons – finding, in one case, that it was nicotine that turned blood black, and even in the case of William's own father, that blood could be determined to be human if you place a rabbit serum on it and it coagulates along the center to make a stripe…

Miss James pulled her out of her thoughts. "Doctor Ogden… Good morning," she greeted. Rebecca knew she should be careful, that the doctor was suffering terribly with the detective missing – likely taken… But her impulsivity won out and she asked, "Is there any news of the detective?"

"No," came the answer, followed by a shared look that sunk so deeply into Rebecca it brought tears to her eyes. Both women clamped their lips tight, accepting the emotion.

The doctor's voice choked up, she said, "Thank you for asking, Miss James." She took a deep breath, seemed to find in it strength, and turned her eyes to the victim on the morgue slab. "Miss James," her voice lifted, suggesting there was something important to do. "I'd like to re-dress the victim. At least his shirt and trousers," she requested.

"Intriguing doctor," the younger woman replied, "May I ask why?"

Readying to go step into the bathroom to change her clothes and freshen up, she said, "Well, we know from the bullet in the fake Mr. Trappe here, that the caliber of the gun used to kill this man matches with the caliber of the gun used to shoot the fake Mr. Wimmer through the heart as well, but… well, Detective Murdoch had noticed something quite special in that first case that I'm wondering if it will be here in this last case too… Um, the bullet hole in the clothing only lined up with the wound in the body if the man's hands were raised above his head… um, if he had been giving himself up to his killer when he was shot."

"Oh, I see," replied Miss James. _The detective truly was amazing_ , she reminded herself.

Julia had a hunch, in instinct… But it had a hitch. If her intuition was right, and the same man was responsible for taking William BOTH times, then she suspected that the man killed in the trap to catch William this time would also have been giving himself up. The problem was that, according to Terence Meyers, the first dead man, Wimmer, WAS William's abductor, killed by Meyers' man while to trying to protect William. And it made sense that Meyers' man would want to abduct William now…

Troubled by the anomalies involved, Julia soon joined Miss James in testing her theory. It really was very difficult to dress a corpse alone… or even with help. Dressing complete, they made their observations with the man's arms down and with them up. The bullet hole in his shirt lined up with the wound in the body best when his hands were raised. With his hands at his sides, there was a two-inch discrepancy. "Not a guarantee," she told Rebecca, "But this evidence does suggest that the same killer murdered both men, and when they were giving themselves up to him.

The phone rang and Julia answered it. The results were in on her colleague's analysis of the powder William at found on the table where the fake Mr. Trappe's body was found, the sample Constable Crabtree had brought to the University looking to see if Mr. Trappe worked or attended school there. It was also an alkaloid. It was also from the nightshade family. It matched what he knew of the chemical properties of "devil's breath."

Julia's hairs stood on ends… " _The same drug given to William!_ " He inner-voice screamed. She felt such a panic taking over as she pushed herself to listen to the man on the phone. " _William is probably being drugged right now! Again! My God, WHY!?"_ inside her head. In her ear, "Effects would be much like alcohol, but with significantly lowered resistance to suggestion, almost tending one to hypnosis… And it has been reported to lead the victim to give away secrets they would normally never reveal…"

Julia's logical brain got a word in, reminding that the first time William was abducted, Meyers had set him up as a decoy for Rutherford as an expert on the half-life formulas for radioactive substances. The perpetrator would have used the drug to get William to tell him the formulas… But of course, William had no way of knowing them. _The drug was a sort of truth serum!_

 _Oh, how it plagued her, the little question just behind the realization… "What did they think William knew this time… and Pendrick too?"_

She thanked the man and hung up. Having much to report, she would head over to share these things with the Inspector and George. She hurried to help Miss James undress the fake Mr. Trappe.

Suddenly, there was that familiar bang of the big morgue door, and Julia's jump to the conclusion that it was William nearly brought tears to her eyes.

Constable Crabtree greeted them, "Miss James. Doctor." Seeing the doctor's expression, he assumed she expected him to be bringing bad news, so he rushed, "Oh, don't worry Dr. Ogden… Err, it's just that Mr. Meyers showed up. I'd thought…"

Julia was already headed for the door.

) (

By the time Julia and George joined the two other men in Brackenreid's office it already reeked of Meyers' cigars… and it had been established that Mr. Meyers had been on his way to come to the stationhouse, having had already heard about Murdoch and Pendrick being missing, when he got the call from the Prime Minister. Standing as they came in, Meyers made it a point to tell Murdoch's wife, "The nation of Canada owes a great deal to your husband, Dr. Ogden. We will do everything in our power to assure he is found."

She nodded. _It's quite hard to trust the spy_ , her emotions warned her.

Julia informed them about her two new findings, the first – the lining up of the bullet holes in the clothing and in the bodies – linking yesterday's murder, and with it the trap used to capture William, to the first murder of the fake Mr. Wimmer… the second, linking the drug used on William the first time he was taken, to the drug seemingly being processed by the man killed for yesterday's trap. "Oh," she remembered something else, "The type of gun used to shoot the first victim, the fake Mr. Wimmer, matched the type of gun used to shoot yesterday's victim, Mr. Trappe."

George asked the room, "Do you think it could be the Americans?"

All eyes turned to Meyers. He took a long draw on his cigar. Holding back, as spies are want to do, he would push to find out as much as possible about what these people knew, preferring to receive information than to give it. His exhale clouded the room. "What makes you say that Constable?" he asked.

Somehow, the Inspector just knew the constable's answer would be longwinded. He stood and went to the cupboard for a scotch.

"Well," George began, "As you will remember from when Alan Clegg was posing as the American Ambassador years ago, Clegg is known to be nearly addicted to those little pastel-colored candies called Necco Wafers…"

The Inspector gestured to Meyers, asking if he wanted a scotch, receiving a nod. Then the doctor.

Wanting to keep a clear head – _William's life was on the line here_ , she declined.

Julia urged everyone to get back to the matter at hand. "Yes, constable. I remember it was Miss James who identified the candies I the stomach contents of one of Clegg's victims," she explained the connection.

His impatience beginning to stir, Brackenreid, grumbled, "Get on with it bug-a-lugs."

"Well, we found a Necco wrapper in the pocket of the man who was killed right after Detective Murdoch was abducted… err, that first time… The victim using the identity of Mr. Wimmer," George offered.

Julia decided to push Meyers on what he had said at the time, "The man you told us, Mr. Meyers, was William's abductor."

 _Meyers felt a twitch in his poker face_. Working to cover, he spoke slowly, kept it simple. "Yes," was all he said. _He could deflect_. Another delay with the cigar…

 _Julia fought the urge to roll her eyes and sock the man…_

Meyers changed the subject, "I had been suspicious of the Americans as well."

Julia leaned forward from where she was sitting on the couch, catching everyone's attention. "William always said he thought it was the Germans…"

Excitement and a bit of discomfort flooded through Meyers' veins. "Did Murdoch finally come to remember something from when he was abducted?" Meyers asked, sounding more eager than he had hoped.

 _She would not share with them that it was this very fact that was probably the one thing about the whole ordeal that bothered William the most – the_ _ **not being able to remember anything**_ _about what had happened to him, and how such an experience leads one to dream up terrifying potential horrors for them to have gone through, knowing you would never really know._ _**No, she would keep that between herself and the man she loved.**_

"No," she answered simply. Holding a pause, in that moment wishing she could ask Meyers for a cigar, she then explained, "No. It was because, as you, yourself, informed William, Mr. Meyers, when William was looking for the person who had supposedly killed Pendrick down in Panama, and you helped him identify the poison that had supposedly been used as being Polonium…" Julia needed a breath. She checked the room, making sure everyone was with her so far. "Well, you also told him that it was the Germans who had discovered Polonium and the German spies who were working with its radioactive properties, and of course, you also set William up, I remind you, Mr. Meyers, it was you who got my husband abducted and nearly killed… at least the first time…" Julia's teeth had suddenly become gritted tight and her jaw jutted into the air, and she seethed, having gotten off on a tangent.

"Dr. Ogden, I have apologized for that," Meyers reminded and appeased. "And I'm here to help now." The man exhaled. "Please doctor, go on," he requested, "You were connecting German use of radioactive Polonium to…"

 _Remembering that William was out there…that he needed to be found,_ Julia took a deep breath and pushed her anger aside. Looking at Meyers to answer his question, she said, "Well, whoever abducted William the first time, they did so because **you** wrote on, and distributed photographs of, _**William's blackboard**_ in _**his office**_ full of _**radioactive formulas**_!" she finished in a yell, standing, hands on hips.

The Inspector finished her point for her, "So the most likely spies interested in those formulas would have been the Germans."

"I see," Meyers responded calmly. "And…" Another annoying wait for him to suck on his cigar… "What does any of that have to do with connecting the Germans to this latest case?"

Unfortunately, Julia had always felt that this next part of William's idea was a bit weak, but she would offer it nonetheless. "There are two connections, and they are indirect, but, the man found dead in the pond at the golf course, from a fall, most likely out of an airplane, Mr. Schiergen, who I remind you Mr. Meyers, you also took that case from us…" Hairs up again, this time Julia calmed herself down and got back on track. "Well, Mr. Schiergen was from Germany. And though that's not much," she conceded before Meyers could complain, she added, "And William left us a clue before we left the crime scene yesterday, that links Schiergen's murder to that of the man killed in yesterday's trap…" She looked to George.

The constable cleared his throat and explained, "Detective Murdoch said Mr. Trappe's murder was like the man shot from a cannon – that's Schiergen, sir," he informed Mr. Meyers, "Because at first we thought Schiergen might have been a performer in a circus act as a human cannonball…"

 _Somehow suddenly feeling as if she were not completely in the room, Julia thought about how when William had said that to them yesterday, he must have known that his captors were listening in, probably knew that those same men had guns aimed at us poised to kill us, if he gave them away, and he still took the chance to say it, and he was brilliant enough to think up such a subtle, astonishing clue, under so much pressure, and she found she was so amazed with William Murdoch, and she loved him so, so much… and he had to be alive… and she had to save him, and she made herself… focus… back on what was happening in the room._

Meyers checked to make sure he understood, "So, the captors might be German because Schiergen was German, and Schiergen's murder has been connected by a clue from Murdoch to this latest murder and Murdoch's being captured again…"

"Yes, "Julia said, "And another thing, Schiergen likely took aerial photographs from planes, and he had some photographs in his flat, and William was working on creating a camera to use to get better aerial photographs… And he and Pendr…"

Meyers held up a hand, stopping her. "I know. I know. Murdoch and Pendrick went up in one of Pendrick's planes Sunday and made a drop… a drop that now you're telling me was _photographed by Murdoch's special camera_ … that took pictures from the plane of this drop on the backyard of your house, Dr. Ogden. Yes, I know. It was reported to me…" another puff on his cigar, "That is minus the camera part. It could be why they were both taken, to find out about such useful military methods… cargo drops and aerial surveillance of enemy territories and such. It might explain why. And maybe it's the Americans and maybe it's the Germans…" He took a drink of scotch, sucked his lips to lengthen the pleasure of the flavor of the liquor. He shrugged and raised an eyebrow, "Even the Russians would want something like that," he reasoned aloud.

Feeling they were getting somewhere, but going around in circles, and not getting enough, they decided to take a break.

~!) (!~

The inside of the huge factory was insufferably hot. Known among the spies that used it as their _**Stalag 13**_ , it provided the secret location needed to interrogate prisoners. The man in charge, Colonel Klink, sat in front of a fan, still, he had yielded to his need to cool off, having removed his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves. His second in command, Sargent Schultz, was a heavy man, so suffered even more so with the insufferable heat. He reported to his superior, red-faced and dripping in sweat.

"Herr Colonel," Schultz made an attempt to salute the man, an old habit from when they served in the army… stopping himself midway so as not to be berated. Both Klink and Schultz had served during the second Samoan Civil War, as recently as 1899, and Schultz often made the mistake of behaving as if they still served Germany in that capacity, instead of giving Colonel Klink the credit he deserved for becoming a superspy for his nation.

Colonel Klink gripped harder to his monocle so it would not fall out when he rolled his eyes at the dummkopf. "Has he gotten one of zem to identify ze location of ze secret Canadian airbase?"

Standing as tall as he could muster in the sweltering, stuffy environment, Schultz reported, "Both men vere stripped naked – though once again, after the truth serum vas given, it vas deemed necessary to allow the detective his hat to ease his incessant vhining about it…" _Suddenly, Schultz panicked that he had digressed too far from the point_. He rushed to get back to the report. "Ze truth serum vas given to both men…" he raised his voice proudly, for he had made Dr. Klemper do the interrogations exactly as ordered, "Vith each man kept separated from ze other. And, Herr Colonel," Schultz clicked his heels together and almost saluted again, dropping it into a cringe instead, then going on, "Both ze detective and ze entrepreneur admit to having seen ze airbase vhen zey flew together up in ze larger plane. Ze two men tell ze same story – seeing 8-9 planes clearly out in view, three buildings, one very large. Both say zat zey have no photographs of it, Herr Colonel."

Klink marveled at his bad luck, "So, only zose useless photographs zat vere on Murdoch! None of ze airbase!"

Cringing again, Schultz tried to push his volume up so as not to be seen as cowering, "Yes Colonel Klink, Herr Colonel!" and clicked his heels again.

Threatening violence, Klink invaded Schultz's space. His stinking breath stealing away what little air Schultz could get, he warned, "You tell Dr. Klemper zat ve need more zan some quaint pictures of Detective Murdoch's kiddies getting Christmas presents in June! **I need to know where zat base is located! Ve need to destroy it in ze name of Germany!** "

"Yes, Colonel," Schultz said, "But only after ve steal all zeir planes and zeir technology…"

" **You dummkopf**! Ve cannot steal all zeir planes and zeir technology **if ve do not know vhere ze secret airbase is located!** " Colonel Klink bellowed.

"Yes Colonel," Schultz quickly gave, hoping to avoid the man's wrath. Not knowing what to do next, Schultz said, "But Colonel, of ze finding of ze location, it seems zat both of our prisoners know NOTHING! **NOTHING!"**

Finally receiving the anticipated wallop, Schultz relaxed. "Have you a plan, Herr Colonel?" he asked sheepishly.

Stepping away, considering all of his options, it seemed that Klink had an idea…

"Vhich Canadian is more susceptible to ze truth serum?" Klink asked.

Oh, that was blatantly obvious. "Detective Murdoch, Herr Colonel," Schultz replied confidently. "Ze man becomes a fountain of his secrets once ze truth serum is administered… and quite horny too, Herr Colonel. He tells much about ze sexy things he does vith his vife," Schultz repressed a giggle.

"It vill be him zen," Klink said, turning his thoughts inward to solidify the intricate details of his new plan.

) (

In her husband's office, Julia had resumed working at William's blackboard, categorizing clues. She realized that the required focus of the task helped ease her suffering in worrying about William, and she felt she understood her husband a bit better through the experience. Giving her a measure of hope, there were still quite a few clues left to explore. She circled them on the board. There was the cigarette butt found in the fake Mr. Trappe's flat. And they needed to take the photograph of the fake Mr. Trappe to the University, because when George had gone the first time, he had searched based on the man's presumed name – Trappe, and without a picture. Julia was planning on suggesting that she go with George this time, because she knew many individuals at the University, and it might help move things along.

Also, William had followed a clue to an ad in a newspaper for a 'small, brave man,' when he was working on Schiergen's case. When he called the number he had gotten a secretary. He had not been able to follow up on it because Meyers had shown up and made them close the case. Julia paused, thinking to the next clue, "George is still trying to identify Trappe in the Constabulary records – good point… the man burning off his own fingerm…"

There was a knock at the open door. George had brought a rather odd-looking woman to the door. She was older, dressed like a gypsy, and Julia's mind arrived at the fact that the woman likely came from the circus at the same moment that George introduced her.

"Dr. Ogden, this is Lady Minerva – a fortune-teller from the circus," George said.

Julia placed the chalk down on the tray and dusted her hands off on her skirt as she approached. "Lady Minerva," she greeted, "It's nice to meet you. Uh… Is there something I can do for you?" she asked, glancing at George for a hint.

"Ah yes," Lady Minerva said, her eyes seeming to seep down into Julia's core. "You are the one – his match in every way."

Out of Julia's conscious control, Lady Minerva was able to read the look of doubt on her face.

The doctor's mind skeptically argued, " _Could be merely deductions, based on the fact that I –_ a **woman** in the stationhouse _, am alone and working in William's office…She's probably even seen pictures in the paper…"_

Lady Minerva gestured, requesting to sit at William's worktable, receiving an open arm inviting her to do so. George took his leave – intent on listening in from his desk.

"Dr. Ogden," the fortune-teller started, "It is true that I have seen you and Detective Murdoch in the papers. I have even read about your Anniversary Party and Madam Celeste's readings of your horoscopes. I do not ask that you accept my powers, but all the same, I offer them. It is an aura around you… that tells me of your eternal connection with your husband. And, I ask you to consider, the cards knew, even before the detective himself had accepted it, who you were to him, did they not? Or did he not tell you?"

 _He had told her, and Julia could tell that Lady Minerva had read her reaction and so she already knew there would be no point in denying it._

Lady Minerva smiled, ever so slightly. "The cards told me that Detective Murdoch's life was in danger…"

Julia managed, just barely, to hold back a gasp, for nothing had been in the papers, _and it stunned her that the woman knew…_

Without hesitation, Lady Minerva's confidence in the accuracy of her statement apparent, the gypsy seer removed her Tarot deck from her bag. "I assume the detective is not here, so I ask you, Dr. Ogden, if you would like a reading?"

 _A high-pitched hum played in Julia's head, making it difficult to think. Her brain said no, but her heart said yes…_ She watched, seemingly frozen with indecision as Lady Minerva placed the deck on the worktable between them.

"You must touch the cards," she advised, pulling Julia out of being stuck.

Julia yielded, accepted the unbelievable, and cut the deck.

The first card laid down – the Chariot, upright. "This card represents your husband in this situation. This card is ruled by Cancer, his Sun Sign. It signifies the importance of his willpower and determination. This next card represents the elements he is encountering in this situation," she said. Lady Minerva turned the card over. It was the Tower, upright.

Julia's eyes widened with the sight of the image – a high tower, struck by lightning, toppling the crown from its top. Flames out of the windows, and people falling from it, head first, hurtling down through space towards the unseen ground below. Her chest seized up with dread… and mystery, so much like Madam Celeste's prediction, " _ **William!"**_ **her head screamed** – _**William… falling through the air.**_

The older woman's voice calm, she said, "Oh my, the same card I encountered earlier, spurring my coming here. It seems disaster has truly struck your husband."

Julia swallowed, working to push down her fear.

Lady Minerva's compassion stirred, she soothed, "Don't give up hope dear. Disasters can be overcome."

Julia raised her eyes off of the terrifying card, met those of the gypsy woman. There was a pleading there, behind Julia's strength.

Lady Minerva's eyes dropped back to the deck, to what was the only thing she knew could be relied on to help. "The next card will tell what factors are blocking success. She turned the card… The Fool, upside down. _The first in the deck, it always held great importance whenever it appeared._ "The card warns against the detective's foolishness. It will cause him great risk," she read.

Feeling suddenly more grounded, Julia protested, "William? The card warns against **William's** foolishness? But…" she shook her head, "He has none?"

"The card is upside down, suggesting that it is out of character for him. He will lose his self-control. It will put him in even graver danger," she foretold. Moving on, she placed her fingers at the edge of the next card, saying, "This card is his hope."

Julia gasped as it turned.

 **The Lovers! The lovers, upright.**

Lady Minerva, too, reacted to the card. " _Phenomenal!_ " she thought to herself.

Their eyes bolted together, meeting with the amazement.

Lady Minerva's voice, filled with awe, told, "Destiny made the match – only you can save him…"

And, in Julia's head, _that hum was back…_

"The hint the card gives is that _**Air**_ is the element ruling the Lovers card…" the gypsy fortune-teller offered.

Her words sending a chill down Julia's spine, triggered by the magnetizing power of Madam Celeste's prediction as well. There was such urgency, and it fluttered about in Julia's gut, along with a formidable sense of self-doubt.

Breathy, Julia asked, "But how?" And she felt it in the back of her throat, swelling, threatening, the urge to cry, to crumble into helplessness.

"This next card tells of opportunity… All is not lost," Lady Minerva encouraged, her faith in the cards unfaltering. _She had read the cards all her life. The detective had good fortune, at the core. She knew the card would give them a chance_. She turned it… " _Amazing!_ " her mind trumpeted.

Lady Minerva said, "The High Priestess, master of unconscious mind and inner voice. I do believe, my dear, _**this is you**_. And the card is upright. A sign that your intuition is trying to send you a message, and you must listen… I believe your husband's life depends on it."

The pressure of it overwhelming, Julia folded with need. "Lady Minerva… I… I wonder…" she tried to ask for more.

"I'm afraid the fortune is told as is," the woman said, beginning to pack-up the cards.

"But…" Julia panicked, "But I… How will I know? How will I recognize the message when it comes? What if I do not?"

Lady Minerva sighed. She would risk the extra step, less sure of its power. She removed all of the major arcana cards, then fanned the deck of minor arcana cards in her hands. "Take one," she said. Then she warned, remembering the High Priestess card in the woman's fortune, "Trust your intuition. Do not think… _**feel**_."

Julia moved her fingers above the cards. Then, they just took one. She turned it.

"The Nine of Cups, but reversed," Lady Minerva read.

"What does it mean?" Julia asked.

"Upright it means comfort… something as simple as enjoying some sweets – for me it would be hard candies, for you… But it is upside down. Here it suggests you will need to watch out for your own weaknesses, your own indulgences, the material things in the world that you can rely on to avoid seeing what you fear is there… such things ultimately keeping you from seeing the truth," came the card's final words.

Lady Minerva tucked the deck back in her bag and stood, telling, "But don't worry. You will know it… when the time comes."

Julia thanked her and the gypsy fortune-teller left to get back to the circus.

Julia turned back to William's board, haunted by the experience. Maybe it was pointless combing over these clues. Maybe she just needed to listen to her internal thoughts.

George knocked.

Julia nodded to him. "George," she invited.

"Lady Minerva is really quite something," he offered, "She… well her cards, knew I was a foundling. And that I would find my mother."

"I see," she replied.

"Yes," he went on. "Much before you and the detective helped me determine which of the two women really was her," he added.

Julia nodded. _She found she wanted to keep it to herself somehow… as if the magic wouldn't work if she told_. She turned back to the drawing board. Her eyes fell to the words she had written as the first clue this morning – 'sweet smell.' _There was a tug_.

George interrupted her thought. "I see you have circled the 'tie University colors and ring' as a clue under Trappe's murder. We have a photograph now…"

"Yes!" she remembered her earlier plans. "Yes George. We should see if anyone at the University recognizes him," she agreed.

Just then, the Inspector opened his office door, and with stress in his voice, he called them into his office. Expecting Meyers to be with him, George asked after the government's head spy.

"Mr. Meyers went to check in with the man he had had watching Pendrick. He said he would be back quickly," the Inspector explained. Then he held up a package. Having already opened the large envelope and laid out the contents on his desk, the first thing that caught the eye was a film on a reel. There was also a note.

Brackenreid had read the note before he called them in, so he had a good idea what would be on the film. Murdoch and Pendrick had been kidnapped. The kidnappers wanted some information – he did not yet know what about – to be delivered to the stated address and deposited in a particular opening in a brick wall there. The kidnappers demanded that it be kept out of the papers, and warned them _**not**_ to follow the man picking up the information at the drop. There were to be no tricks or…

Thomas Brackenreid could not help himself, here he had to pause. He had to rouse his resolve, to rally up the nerve needed to make himself say it… to the man's wife…

"Or Detective Murdoch dies sooner," he finished.

All eyes turned to Julia. Truth be told, _a part of her was not surprised. She had felt that William's life was on the line this whole time_. She looked down at the film reel on the Inspector's desk.

Brackenreid took her signal. "Crabtree, set up that bloody film projector of Murdoch's," he ordered. Such a creepy feeling in his veins, knowing they were about to watch a film in which Murdoch's life was threatened. _Would he be beaten? Would he plead for help? Would Dr. Ogden see these excruciating things… on this film?_

George rushed off to the detective's office.

Alone with her, Brackenreid would try to help Murdoch's wife, and his friend and colleague, as best he could. "I'm sorry doctor," he said. "But let's not panic yet," he encouraged, "We've not yet seen it. We don't even know what it is they want."

She nodded. She agreed. She was trying. _A part of her floated up to the ceiling – from there, time seemed to cease moving, up here she was helpless, but in being so, she was accepting, relaxed even. However, another part of her rushed ahead, anticipating, predicting, panicking – sickening her with the sense that time was barreling forward, threatening to run out, and she would never be able to catch up…_

By the time Meyers returned, George had found the detective's projector… and the screen, and had set up the projector with the kidnapper's film loaded. From Murdoch's door, Meyers paused, looking in to see the doctor and the Inspector sitting silently and watching the process… waiting for the final task to be done before they saw the dreaded film. The constable was pulling up the screen as he walked in to join them. Inspector Brackenreid handed him the note and filled him in on what they knew about the package thus far. Mr. Meyers turned off the light, and George flicked the switch, and the wheel turned.

 _ **Two men sit, hooded, side-by-side, in chairs. A white sheet is hung in the background, making it unlikely that the location will be identified. The man on the left is dressed in what is recognizable as Murdoch's suit, without the jacket or tie, a Toronto Constabulary badge pinned to his vest. The other man is dressed only in trousers and a dress shirt. It seems to be very hot. Both men are wet with sweat, have their shirtsleeves rolled up, and many of the upper buttons of their shirts undone.**_

 _ **A third man, his face covered in a mask, comes into the shot. He too, wet, shirtsleeves rolled up, he walks behind the two men and pulls off their hoods, revealing to the camera the identities of the two captives – Murdoch on the left, and Pendrick on the right. Murdoch seems to wobble and try to reach for the masked man behind him, saying something, receiving a whack in the head in response. Murdoch then turns to look off screen, seeming again to ask the same thing, but now to someone behind the camera.**_

 _(To Julia, it reminded her of something… "_ Oh that's it!" _her inner voice rang out in her head – hearing the memory as much as re-seeing it – of William's scratchy voice after being revived, him worrying, "I've lost my hat?" It was from back when William had nearly drowned on the sinking ship. "_ MY GOD! _" she thought, "_ He's asking for his hat!" _)_

 _ **The masked man walks out of sight, temporarily blocking their view as he crosses in front of the camera, and then brings Detective Murdoch his hat, placing it on the detective's head for him, and it becomes obvious, as one watches, that Murdoch and Pendrick are not only tied up, but they are also bound tightly in place in their chairs. Murdoch seems to quiet down.**_

 _ **The masked man puts the hood back on Pendrick, walks in front of the camera, blocking the view of two captives momentarily, coming back into the camera's view carrying a sign. He places the sign in Murdoch's lap. It says,**_

 **I die in 12 hrs. unless**

 **location of airbase**

 **at drop by 8 PM**

Abruptly, the reel ends.

The spinning of the end of the film on the wheel clicked away rapidly, _reminding of the ticking clock – ticking too fast_ , in the dark, airless room.

 _With everything she had, Julia tried not to fall apart._

George turned off the projector. Meyers stood and flicked on the light. Everyone looked at Julia. Everyone worried about her in that moment.

Seeing their concern for her, she gave into the tears she had been holding at bay, letting them well-up and flow. She took a breath, shaky. She looked at the Inspector and clamped her lips together, giving him a nod. "Let's save him," she said, her voice not much more than a windless squeak.

With that, all eyes focused on Meyers.

Brackenreid felt his ire rising. "Tell us about this airbase," he gritted his teeth and demanded.

All of a sudden, Meyers felt the need for his cigar. Annoyingly, though he used the time to calm himself down – _and he would be of little help to Murdoch and Pendrick if he panicked_ – Mr. Meyers withdrew a cigar out of his topcoat pocket, and then a match, which he struck, and held to the end of the cigar, puffing and puffing until the embers glowed, and then he shook the match out, the smoke floating about as the smell of Sulphur hit their nostrils. He searched Murdoch's office for an ashtray, of course, not finding one.

"Constable," the government spy looked to George, "Perhaps you could…"

"Bollocks Meyers!" Brackenreid yelled. "Crabtree! Get his bloody ashtray! Now Mr. Meyers… the airbase!?" he glared into the man's face.

Terrence Meyers exhaled a swirling, snaking, twisting, cloud of smoke. "There is a problem," he confided…

It felt as if everyone held their breath.

"Canada does not have an airbase," he said matter-of-factly.

"Bollocks, Meyers! I'm bloody well sick of all your secrets! There's no point in hiding it from us! We already know!" the Inspector bellowed at the man.

Julia leaned forward, her voice an odd mix of strong and pleading, "We have to give it to them."

Mr. Meyers stood, needing to pace, to move, so as not to feel stuck. But fear was there, in his gut, demanding to be dealt with. "What I am telling you is the truth. I don't know why the kidnapper's think we have an airbase, of all things. Perhaps they dreamt the thing up, and then used the activities of Pendrick and Murdoch as further evidence supporting the wild idea," he explained.

Looking to Julia, he saw that she believed him… And he could tell it scared her too, because the location of the supposed airbase was what they had to trade for her husband's life, and now she understood that there was no airbase.

Having come clean about the fact that Canada did not have an airbase, thus they could not reveal its location in the drop at 8 PM, and they would not be able to come up with the ransom requested by the enemy spy kidnappers, and thus, they were powerless to save Murdoch's life, Meyers decided to come clean about something else, something from a while ago, that was likely relevant. "I may as well tell you now," he started, hesitating to inhale his cigar, "The first dead man – the man who had the Wimmer identification… who had gotten shot in the chest, the same night Murdoch was first abducted. He was not Murdoch's captor. He was my best man. I'd put him on Murdoch because I truly believed he could protect him."

 _ **It dawned on everyone in the room**_ … Murdoch had been abducted by the same people both times... It was all but certain now. And these men were lethally dangerous, skilled enough to get the best of, not only Detective William Murdoch – _who may not have been as alert as he might have been since he didn't know he was being set up as a decoy_ … But these treacherous men, likely spies for the USA, or Germany, or Russia, or some underworld organization, they had also gotten the best of Canada's finest man in the field.

 _Julia felt the world crashing down around her – the image of the Tower, burning, being struck by lightning, crumbling, as she fell through the abyss._ She rushed out of room – feeling she would be sick.

After Crabtree had put away the projecting equipment, the three men went into the Inspector's office, waiting for her. Inspector Brackenreid offered them a drink. Meyers accepting, Crabtree declining. They began to work the clues, hoping to determine the identity of the kidnapper's, or their hiding place.

 _It drummed in the back of the mind, 8 PM, 8 PM, 8 PM. Little over four hours from now… Only four hours from now… Less than four hours from now…_

Julia returned, face washed, hair straightened. The Inspector offered her a drink. _Oh, how she wanted one…_

Hearing Lady Minerva's voice foretell, " _Your intuition is trying to send you a message, and you must listen..."_ Julia wiggled her toes in her shoes, grounding as best she could, and said, "No, um, no thank you Inspector." She clamped her lips and glanced into the Inspector's blue eyes. " _It was the nine of cups, the card that told it,_ she remembered… "W _atch out for your own weaknesses, your own indulgences,_ " her fortune had warned.

Appearing at Brackenreid's door, unannounced, just suddenly there, Alan Clegg showed up.

It was George who had the strongest reaction to the sight of the American man standing there, for he was slimy, and there was evidence that he was involved. He remembered the sight of it, _the crumpled up Necco Wafers candy wrapper in the detective's hand_ , after he had pulled it out from the pocket of the murdered man they now knew to be Meyers' best spy, put in charge of protecting Detective Murdoch. A brave and highly competent man killed, likely as he had tried to save the detective, giving his life with the effort.

Clegg had heard about Murdoch and Pendrick being captured, that the two Canadians were being held for some sort of ransom. He wanted to ensure them that it was _**not**_ the USA that was responsible. He claimed to want to help.

No one in the room believed him. But the head of the spy organization for the American government, he might know something that they needed. They would hear him out.

Meyers attacked right away though, going for the man's poker face, figuring Clegg wouldn't be expecting it. "Alan, they are saying we have an airbase, but we d…"

Immediately the American's response, interrupting, with his usual rudeness, and so very cool, "We thought you did too." Clegg lit a cigarette.

George remembered finding cigarette butts, the thoughts splitting off in multiple directions. Once in the Trappe flat, where Murdoch was taken this second time – _did Clegg's brand match that one?_ The second neural trail placed him in the alleyway in Winnipeg _– and there too with the cigarette butts, was the Necco wrapper – and the diabolical assassin, the one working for the TOFF, and Dr. Ogden's American cousin to boot, the meat monger Jonathan Ogden, Ogden's hired killer, the deadly Mr. Graveson. The man had George in a handshake, nearly stabbed him in the armpit – the image, the memory replayed, Detective Murdoch flying through the air to save him… So quick, the flash, back even further from when they were undercover as hoboes on the same case, and the cruel American copper, Flannel Bull, bolstered by all his goonies, choosing the detective as his victim… in the barn in the Jungle, and George rallying to his rescue, but knocked unconscious, and when the gun was cocked to George's head, it provided the means to force the detective to acquiesce to the bastard's lewd advances…_

Meyers recognized the fellow spy's delaying tactic. " _There was something there_ ," he told himself, as he watched the man shake out the match and hunt the ashtray.

Exhaling the thinner smoke, Clegg added, "Heard it from the Russians. The Russkies are suspicious of Pendrick… Think he's a spy for your government. They've been watching ever since he started his airplane delivery business." _Clegg wouldn't tell, but he believed Pendrick to be a double-agent, working for both Canada and for Russia. He ran the tabulation in his head. Pendrick had spent time in Russia, working on his rocketship. He even brought that Russian woman, Svetlana, back with him. Clegg had always thought it was Pendrick's mission for Russia to kill Meyers, almost being successful, launching Meyers off into space._

Meyers replied, "Pendrick is an innocent businessman, much as Murdoch, too, who had nothing to do with any spying… At least, not for us."

George asked, having gotten his focus back on the conversation, "Do you think the Germans could be the kidnappers… err, like the detective suspected, and they got wind of the Russian's suspicions of Pendrick, and since Pendrick has a bunch of planes they just…"

Both Meyers and Clegg agreed that the captors, whether they be German or Russian, must have conjured up the idea, somehow, that Canada had a secret airbase. And when Pendrick and Murdoch started working on, and testing, their various innovations in airplanes, it only added fuel to the fire. And now it would be next to impossible to convince them otherwise.

Julia spoke up. "And what does that mean for William? And James Pendrick? Are they doomed?"

Brackenreid steamed, "You spies are a bloody lot! You need to make this right!"

Meyers looked to Clegg. "We don't have much time," he said.

The talk turned to how much time they did have. Less than four hours until the note's demanded time of the drop… and it was unclear if Murdoch's clock – the twelve hours until he died – started from then, or from when they had received the package here in the stationhouse. Both experienced spies speculated that the kidnapper's clock started at the time of the drop… a drop that was in less than four hours, and then Murdoch would have twelve hours after that for the enemy spies to determine whether the location given had been legitimate. And it could not be, so that meant they needed to solve the case.

They needed to work the clues – to find them – FAST!

Julia said she thought William looked like he might have been drugged in the film. She suspected they were giving him a drug called "devil's breath" which causes people to put down their defenses, to tell all their secrets, and to become very submissive. It was a kind of hypnotic truth serum.

Clegg was hit with a jolt of adrenalin. "What makes you say that?!" he nearly yelled at the doctor, surprising everyone with his aggressiveness.

She explained that there had been small amounts of a drug that matched the chemical compounds in 'devil's breath' in William's blood, the first time he had been taken. Then she added that yesterday, when William had investigated the scene where his captors lie in wait for him, he had found a dusting of the same drug on the table in the home of the last victim – a piece of evidence that he had managed to hand off to Constable Crabtree, before the villains snatched him once more.

 _She couldn't help it… It came at her from out of left field… The memory of his last kiss – possibly their very last kiss. The way he called her back. She had been so confused. "_ I didn't want to let you go without saying goodbye." _Then his breath in her ear telling her he loved her. And then he stepped back, and he lifted a corner of his mouth, admitting… Oh, my God, she knew now, he was admitting to the pain he felt, and he was admitting to being sorry for the pain she would feel, for he would be gone._ The heat of tears forming in her heart brewed upward in her throat.

Clegg managed to calm down quickly. He tried to cover for his overreaction, saying he had only been worried for the two men in case… He explained that, if his suspicions about Pendrick were right, and the captors were the Germans instead of the Russians, and then when Pendrick told the German spies the truth about his being a spy, because of the truth serum, then the Germans would assume Murdoch was helping the Russian spy… And thus, their lives were in even greater danger than was originally thought.

It was Meyers who noticed, Clegg was antsy from that moment on. It was only a few moments after that exchange that the American spy would take his leave. Meyers was suspicious, but he had so much to do and so little time.

The room cooled down. Crabtree began to report out about their other clues – the victim having burned off his fingermarks with acid, and a cigarette butt in the ashtray at the same table Dr. Ogden had mentioned that had had the truth serum substance on it.

Clegg stood and said he would be putting every man he had in Toronto on this. He took Julia's hand and rose it to give it a kiss. "Dr. Ogden, the American government is on the case. We will do everything in our power to find your husband," he vowed.

"Thank you, Mr. Clegg," she said simply, trying to be polite, trying to hide her distrust – _her own mind reminding of the Necco Wafers candy wrapper in the pocket of the man who had been killed trying to protect her husband._

Glad that the American was gone, Meyers shared his plan with his fellow Canadians. He would pretend that Canada DID have a secret airbase… Supply the fake location of this made-up airbase at the drop. Not to worry, his men were experts at disguising themselves. They could appear to be a postbox, or a shoeshine stand. They were skilled men, who could stand still as a post for hours – blending in with the environment, drawing no attention, no suspicion, as they surveilled. They would stake out the drop, follow the pick-up man discretely back to the captor's hideout. If that failed, they would watch the spot they had identified in the drop as being where the airbase was located, lying in wait for when the enemy spies tried to destroy the supposed airbase, capturing them that way. Meyers and his spies would find Murdoch and Pendrick. They would save them. Meyers sent them all home. The Constabulary would only be in the way, would only jeopardize the plan.

After Meyers left, the Inspector said, "Bugger that. Crabtree, what have you? Doctor?"

George and Julia went to the University with the photograph of the victim falsely identified as Mr. Trappe. Upon asking around for people who recognized the man in the picture, George spotted a cigarette butt in an ashtray in an office of one of the chemistry professors. _**It was the same brand as the one the detective had given him rolled up in his handkerchief**_ _!_

The constable asked, "Who smokes these?"

The professor replied, "Let me see…" for there were two different brands of cigarette in the ashtray, and he needed to know which one the constable was inquiring about. "Well, the Chesterfields are mine…" he answered, considering George's face to ascertain if that somehow implicated him in the murder.

"No, sir. Not those. The Hignett's…" George glanced at Dr. Ogden, "The German ones."

Julia stood at alert… _They had something!_

Relieved, the professor, leaned back in his chair and paused, trying to remember. His face brightened – it had come to him. "There is a man called Weimer. He works as a technician in the lab. He met with me in here a few days ago."

 _They had him! They had the identification of the man murdered and used in the trap to catch William!_

They asked the professor to examine the photograph once more, to consider whether it could be this Mr. Weimer. "Oh… I see now. Weimer looked much older… and had mutton chops and a mustache…"

 _George's mind jumped to a memory of the time they were having difficulty identifying a man up in Perth County… He remembered it now – it was the first time they had met Mr. Meyers! Meyers was posing as the manager of a landholding company, and fooling people into thinking their military airship was a Martian spacecraft to get them to sell their land! Wasn't that for a secret government airbase?! The suspect they had a picture of back then lacked a mustache, but a man found murdered was discovered, by Dr. Ogden when she performed her postmortem, to be wearing a fake mustache, and was really the same man in their photograph. It had fooled everyone._

Outside the University, George suggested the doctor go home to her children. Now that they had a name, the search would move to looking through Constabulary records, and then following any clues they got from there. He would get all the available constables on it.

She decided to follow his advice. There was a hint in the back of her mind, that in order to do what Lady Minerva's fortune had predicted, she would need time alone to " _hear_ " her intuition.

) (

Down from the cab, Julia found herself scared to go inside. _Their house was so beautiful. William designed this house, his character in every nook and cranny_. A tear threatened to bloom in her eye. She swallowed, took a deep breath, and pushed on. It was near dinner time. She felt too sick to eat, but she would try.

Not expected at home so early, it seemed, at first, that no one heard her come in. She removed her hat. Checking her image in the mirror… " _No sign of crying… Tired, though. You look tired_ ," she told herself. In the reflection, she spotted Eloise coming through the corridor from the kitchen. _Oh, how she wanted to fall into the woman's arms and cry…_

"Doctor!" the woman declared… alerting the household to arrival.

Instantly, the happy children could be overheard sharing the news down in the basement playroom.

"Mommy's home!"

"Mommy's here!"

And the pattering of footsteps barreled upwards.

Such conflict raged in Julia's heart, wanting more than anything in the world to have her – _their_ – three children safely and securely in her arms… but so too, filled with dread at the thought of telling them, of even considering the possibility, that they would grow up without their father. " _He's still alive_ ," she reminded herself, having already decided not to tell… not yet.

Hugs and kisses, multiplied by ten, abound, because their parents had not come home last night. Inevitably, however, the question came.

"When's Daddy getting home?" asked Katie.

Julia steadied her voice in her mind – striving for complete matter-of-factness and confidence. "Daddy's still all wrapped up in the case. He probably won't make it home tonight," she said.

There were groans and mumbles from the little ones in response.

Little Chelsea, in her mother's arms, who seemed not to be quite old enough to grasp the news, asked "Dadda?"

"Not tonight my baby girl," Julia answered her, nuzzling her with kisses, prompting the baby to giggle, and light up the world, for just a moment.

Claire-Marie asked about the doctor's class at the University tonight. Julia explained that she had gotten another professor to cover the class for her, expecting to be busy working on this very tough and important case. She asked the nanny if she would be willing to stay at home, and be ready at a moment's notice to watch the children… should something come up. She would be leaving earlier than usual tomorrow morning, and hoped Claire-Marie could wake the children and start their day. The young woman graciously agreed. Julia sensed that both Claire-Marie and Eloise grasped the dire situation more than they were letting on. Their compassion was appreciated.

 _Oh, how Julia had been trying to cope. It was worse here than in his office – everything, absolutely everything – reminded her of him. She couldn't breathe…_

When it came time to tuck the children in, she ended up faltering.

William Jr. looked back at her from under his bedsheet, and his big, brown eyes reminded her, so very deeply, of William. And she missed him so much. And was so worried about him. And, without her permission, tears pooled in her eyes, and that lovely little boy saw it, and he asked her…

"Are you sad Mommy?" his voice high, like a child's, and so innocent.

"Yes, baby. I am a little… But don't worry. Mommies get sad sometimes. It won't last forever, hmm?" she answered, telling the truth, for there was no other way when it came to heart-to-hearts. She pulled him into hug. " _But William could be_ _ **dead forever**_ ," she thought to herself, and she hoped her son could withstand it, for she fell into soft weeping, and that little boy stayed there with her, not knowing what was wrong, but knowing his mother needed him – which she did, ever so much.

The wave of emotions passed, once Julia had allowed them to flow. She took a deep breath, told him he was such a good boy, and she loved him so, so much. And she kissed him goodnight.

After the children were asleep, she went down into William's workroom to use his drawing board and recreate the layout of the four cases and the clues _. They did know more now_. She put Weimer's name over the crossed-out "Trappe" name at the far-right side of the board – the last case. Under Wimmer's name she wrote, "Meyers' spy," taking a moment to thank the man in her mind for trying to save William's life. Under "William's abduction" she wrote, with more confidence in the clue now, "devil's breath."

Staring at the board, trying to decide where to put it, she thought, " _And the airbase… Was it about this airbase all along?_ Certainly, William's first abduction was much more clearly about radioactive substances…

Being busy with the board and the clues had helped distract her. Yet, she suddenly noticed, as if from within a cloud, that she had been staring at the same clue… " _sweet smell_ " under the column for William's first abduction, the same words that had caught her eye at the stationhouse earlier. _It was her intuition, she knew it! But what?! What!?_

Frustrated, she put the chalk down and went upstairs… retrieved the whiskey bottle from the dining room… considering how hard it was going to be for her to fall asleep in their bed without him.

 _Out of the corner of her eye –_

Her breath swept out of her with the registering of the shadow – his Anniversary gift, the vase of copper and wool roses. A dozen yellow ones, and one red… And the red one tweaked her womb with lust, her eyes drifting to the secret passageway in the corner of the room, in the dark. And then she remembered the thrill of the game he had made, seeing rose after rose in the house, and before that, reading his magnificent poem, there with the first yellow rose on his pillow next to her in the bed – _you are the ground in which I grow my roots_ – and then his note, on the dining room table, right there, with the vase. At first, he had planned to place _seven_ roses adhered to places in the house where they had made love, for _seven_ years, but it wasn't enough, and she knew, she was certain of it, _seven_ was not enough! Not seven roses for places they had loved, nor seven years for time they had loved. She knew, her body knew, down to the marrow of her bones, she knew, William was still alive and he was out there… and she had to find him. This was not the end of their story.

A flash, an image, a memory and a wish. Julia saw herself, abruptly being swooped up high into the AIR, or was it that she _jumped up_ into the air to save him from falling, urged by little Katie, to save her Daddy from the plane. _She needed to be ready_ , she thought, putting the bottle away. _Remember the Nine of Cups… remember the nine of cups._

Her intuition told her they were facing an epic journey. If she could find him, be with him, if they were together, just as he had told her long ago, and her intuition told her that, now, more than ever, it was true, **if they were together, there was no one stronger.**

 **) (**

 _ **The Nine of Cups is a minor Tarot card, it is true, so it gives insight only into specific, little details in one's future story. Julia had correctly intuited the significance of its hint, in this instance, its being upside-down telling her to be aware of the dangers of yielding to one's own indulgences, and in putting down the whiskey bottle, Julia had incorporated the tiny clue into the fabric of their fortune, saving it from fraying away into the void of the impossible. But, she had not yet discovered that there would be more to the gypsy fortuneteller's taking the unusual risk of offering her a chance at the drawing of a minor card… And Julia would need it, for her instincts were right. William needed her WITH HIM in order to survive this monumental challenge, and thus she needed to find him, and time would be running out, very, very soon.**_

)) ((


	14. 14: The Tower

Back to the Drawing Board_14_The Tower

) (

Her body twitched abruptly, almost waking Julia as she slept alone in their bed. She had finally fallen off to sleep, convincing herself to trust in Mr. Meyers and his men to find William… to save him before the twelve hours ran out, to bring him home safely before he was killed, all because the Canadian government did not, could not, meet the ransom requirement of identifying the location of a non-existent secret Canadian airbase. Images flashed, so quickly, the little vignettes of their lives together, each image complete with a backstory and charged emotions. If she had been awake, she would have grasped the theme… his life… in danger.

 _ **He was climbing up an electric pole to diffuse a bomb attached to man up at the top. Near the top now, she could feel she was holding her breath. BOOM! The bomb startled everyone, a car backfiring and setting it off, she remembered now… William dropped away in time, intentionally letting himself hurtle down through space. He was an expert at climbing. He had been a lumberjack – and then the image Flashed – Lady Minerva flipping the card –**_ **THE TOWER!**

 _ **His hat floated by, in the flooded waters of the bowels of the sinking ship. "William!" she called out, Julia mumbling it in her sleep. Flash – they were at their Anniversary party and Madam Celeste told the crowd, "He saved her from her element – FIRE – carrying her out of the flames, she saved him from his element – WATER – swimming under the surface to find him, lifting him, breathing life back into him." And then came the next Flash – "And this card is his hope," the gypsy fortuneteller foretold, flipping the card.**_ **THE LOVERS** _ **! The card that so shocked her… so amazed Lady Minerva. THEM TOGETHER, they were his hope. Together – him with her.**_

 _ **Her imagination recreated this next one, for she had not actually seen it happen. William falling from a collapsing fire-escape that had broken as he reached the top in pursuit of a suspect… Back at a time when she wasn't seeing him anymore, they had broken apart, because of her abortion. And she first met Enid Jones, breaking her heart to the core, when she treated William's severely gashed right forearm as he convalesced in his home. Flash – the High Priestess card flipped… and Lady Minerva's awestruck voice told of**_ this card being Julia _ **, and how it would be her listening to her intuition that would be the key to saving him.**_

 _ **With each image lasting longer than the previous one, Julia drifted deeper and deeper into her sleep. This memory, so sweet, it felt as if it broke the pattern. "Arborglyphs" the technical term, her own voice told her nonchalantly, and the memory played, and as will happen in dreams, the memory morphed…**_

 _ **Julia noticed William turn, his attention drifting away from the astounding view up here in the treetop together in the park, looking down over where they had shared their first kiss. His eyes changed the focus, inward to the trunk of the tree.**_

" _ **What is he looking for so intently?" she asked herself. And then she spotted it, the carving he had made, over a decade ago – at the time, only for him, a hope, and a confession, to the Universe…**_

 _ **J. O.**_

 _ **W. M.**_

 _ **He had scratched his love for her into this tree, soon after they had leaned their two bicycles together, each wishing it had been their flesh rather than their metal, each wanting more, and they had watched the scientific demonstration of AC electrical current together. And with seeing what he had done back then, here in this treetop, she knew, William Henry Murdoch had loved her for such a long, long time.**_

 _ **The love of her life disclosed to her, up there in that tree, that, "No matter of Confessions, or self-flagellation, could quell his love for her. He had figured that it if he admitted it, undeniably wrote it down for ages and ages, his love for her, tell it to the Universe, well, then maybe it would let him go on." And then he wrinkled a corner of his mouth, and her world had flipped-over again with her astonishing love for this man. Somehow, the magic of the kiss that followed was magnified by their height in the perfect tree, remarkable, spectacular love enveloping them within its golden leaves.**_

 _ **Then they were making love in their bed. She, only a hair's breadth from the deluge, it was imminent, guaranteed. William sensed it, rushed to catch up with her as she felt the windup begin, lifting her higher, and higher, and higher, ensured of an ecstatic, phenomenal, fall. So powerful, so fierce, his thrusts into her, and the crest gave way, curled and dropped. And William's moan, hot, devastating, in her ear, as he caught her and they soared together, wave after wave after wave rippling through them… locked intimately together, perfectly one.**_

 _ **He knew, so much confrontation with his death beforehand, with her almost losing him, that the shaking was her eruption into crying. He tried to comfort her, but she pushed him away. Ran to the bathroom saying, "I made a big mistake, a horrible mistake." In the bathroom memories came – her gift to him at the time, offering him Ishinpō pictures to choose from for their lovemaking, William boldly choosing the one they did in here, her bent forward over the bathroom countertop… She turned away, pushed the pleasure, the wild lustful pleasure, away. Her eyes now captured by the shower – his innovation. And she remembered finding one yellow copper and wool rose stuck to the shower wall, in there. Finding the Anniversary rose, she had joked to herself that, in there, he should have put two.**_

 _ **Too painful, when combined with her certainty she would need to survive losing him, she bolted out of the bathroom door… past him. He stopped her. She struggled free, looked into his beautiful eyes, and she told him, "I love you too much William," and began to run away again, "Too much."**_

 _ **Down the stairs. Possible places to hide from the pain – the front porch – but a memory of their fight, the second time she was pregnant, and she saw before her on the February ground, his bare-feet, when she was sitting on the front steps regretting telling him it was HER body, waiting for him, praying for him to come back to her, way back on that February night… And he had come back, and she was in his arms…**_

 _ **Julia ran into the kitchen – to get away from the bittersweet ache. The table – making love on the table, so to, against the wall. She remembered Eloise commenting, "So many?" after she had told the older woman that she thought there would be twelve – twelve Anniversary roses placed where they had made love.**_ So strange – out of nowhere – the ticking, hurried, nauseating, ticking, of a clock.

 _ **The dining room!? She continued her hunt for someplace safe, a place where her mind, her heart, her soul, would not be pulled into knowing the intensity, the force, of their love, and with it the unbearable loss she must now endure in living life without him. In the dining room, the vase of roses, and, also, the secret passageway, where she had so deliciously teased him about being "Willyummy," and they had made love on the evening of their party, and now there – sitting in the vase, she had found it that night in the passageway, and now there it sits in the vase, a red rose, too, among the twelve others.**_

 _ **She spotted the little laundry room off the kitchen. Safe! She ran to hide from memories of HIM in there. Door closed, she fell back against it… It intruding, uninvited, collapsing her to the core. His invention, BRILLIANT! A laundry cupboard. And her sobbing overwhelmed her once more. So real, the memory played… He had gone to the hospital with his meat hook wound… After almost being killed, hung helpless from the overhead hoist, one in line to be butchered, stuck dangling in the dark, between two dead pigs, headed for a huge rotary saw. She and he had fought… my God, she couldn't remember about what!? They ended up in here –**_ **Oh yes** _ **, there was a STINK on his clothes, and she was putting them in the wash. And he stood before her bare-chested and so gorgeous. And she would check the treatment of the wound made by the running through of his flesh of the meat hook… And then… she remembered Eloise came in. And Julia had teased William about Eloise getting an eyeful…**_

" _There was something though… something about there being a_ smell _on him_ _ **," her brain chased after the intuition…**_

 _ **Suddenly, she was out in the yard. "It was hot," she thought, looking at William before her, seated so rigidly in a chair. He had taken off his jacket, his tie, rolled up his sleeves.**_ _Mmm_ _ **, she noticed, she could see the skin of his chest under the unbuttoned, sweaty opening in the top of his shirt. He was talking… rambling on about something…**_ _His hat?_ _ **She couldn't hear. Strained, imagined… William would be explaining some scientific phenomenon or another, knowing him. His captors becoming impatient with it… She heard him, "When air heats up it becomes less dense… That will make it rise," William's voice told her, as if it were a secret, in her ear.**_

 _ **Julia gasped, as she watched William start to lift… to float upward. "He's too hot!" She screamed, wobbling in her sleeping state. "Too hot!" as tears formed in her eyes. She ran underneath him, reached to grab him before it was too late. Then, little Katie at her skirts, "Jump Mommy! Jump! You have to save him from the plane," the little one, now hysterical, cried.**_

 _ **Julia fell to her knees, bawling, for she could not jump that high, and she couldn't fly. And she would lose him – they would lose him…**_

And her sobs woke her. And he was not there. And she remembered it now – the film, matching the horrible fear, and dread, and pain, in her gut, to the reality. And she gave into the despair. And she cried and she cried and she cried… And the wave passed, eventually… And she felt a resurgence come. **He was still alive.** She would not give up.

Out of bed, unaware of the hour, Julia phoned Claire-Marie. The nanny would come… was coming now, through the downstairs doorway connecting the servant's quarters to their home. She was not alone, she and William were not alone. There were people, good people, loving people, who wanted to help.

In the cab, headed to meet the Inspector at the stationhouse, Julia thought it through. She nodded to herself, having decided. It was the German spies who were responsible… who took William – William must have been reacting to a subconscious memory of their accent, or overhearing his captors talk to each other in their native language, when he became so sure it was them. And now, there was also the German brand of the cigarette butt – the Hignette's brand - William had found at the trap… and the man used to capture him there, shot, like another in this twisty case, when giving up, he was German, just like Schiergen… And now they knew his name, the name he used at the University where he made the hypnotic truth drug they had most likely used on William – his name was _**Weimer**_.

"German spies, and they have William somewhere, somewhere where it's hot," she reran her focus over and over. They had to find them. There was still time…

~!) (!~

Sargent Schultz wound his way through the factory hallways after disembarking from the secret prototype of their Taube spy airplane. With each step deeper into the factory, the heat rose, the air around him becoming more and more stifling, and his internal fear elevated. He had bad news. _Oh_ , _how he hated to be the bearer of bad news to report to Colonel Klink, but it was true, they still knew NOTHING! NOTHING!_ His resolve, his strength, seemed to be melting away. Image after image of Colonel Klink shooting man after man square in the chest, with his, now rare, 1901 Bergmann pistol, passed through the Sargent's mind. " _The Colonel particularly seemed to revel in shooting men who begged for zeir lives_ ," _Schultz noted to himself_ , _thinking to be sure not to beg if it ever came down to it._ Unfortunately, sinking his resolve even further, he flashed a recent memory of Klink firing a shot into Meyers' spy the night they first took the Canadian detective. " _That was a brave man_ ," Schultz remembered, " _Looked the Colonel right in the eye till the end_." Schultz giggled to himself guiltily, " _well the one eye anyway_ ," remembering the Colonel's monocle.

Through just this last humungous doorway, but there was a smaller door within the larger door he knew to use, and he would be in the bowels of Stalag 13. Chest out, stand tall, he entered the German spy prison and interrogation headquarters. Only moments later, he knocked at the Colonel's door.

"It is me, Herr Colonel… Sargent Schultz," he said, his tone masking his dread.

Klink jumped to alert from in his big, plush chair, with the fan blowing wind over his still sweating body. He pictured what would happen next. _They would gather up the three larger planes, load them with their bomb-dropping devices. They would blow up the three buildings of the Canadian airbase, with all the Canadian planes inside, from the air, avoiding the ambush Klink was certain Meyers would have prepared down on the ground below. A surprise attack from the skies! And he, Colonel Wilhelm Klink, would destroy the secret airbase constructed by Canada, destroy their enemies, for his great nation… For Germany!_

"Enter Schultz!" he ordered confidently.

The moment Schultz had eye contact with Colonel Klink's monocle, he crumpled. "Ve still know NOTHING! **NOTHING!** " he reported, staring at the wall behind the man, forcing himself to stand up tall, to await, and to take, the anticipated battering, knowing full well that his superior was one to shoot the messenger. However, unable to fully avert his panic, he noted that the Colonel did not have his weapon at his side, and Schultz wondered if he could run out the door as fast as the man could retrieve the old pistol from his desk drawer.

"You imbecile, dummkopf! Did you fly in ze plane vith ze pilot yourself?! As I had ordered?!" Klink demanded.

"Ze Taube spy airplane flew out at dawn, Herr Colonel, vith ze pilot in ze front seat and me in ze back… although I barely fit in ze little seat, Herr Colonel…"

 _Zing_ , the Sargent received a wallop.

"I do not care about your comfort, you dummkopf!" Klink barked.

"Yes, Herr Colonel," Schultz cowered. Thinking it best to get back to the report, he continued, "Ve flew directly over ze spot identified in ze message that vas collected at ze drop, exactly vhere ze secret Canadian airbase should have been according to vhat zey wrote in zeir response. Ze plane was at an altitude of 400 meters…" _Schultz had been terrified of the height. Remembering it now, especially in this heat, and under the disparaging eye of a man as bloodthirsty as Colonel Wilhelm Klink, and he felt a cold sweat mingle with the slimy coating already formed all over his skin, and he felt dizzy, and nauseous, and he…_

He pushed on, "Ve zink ze magnificent Taube vent undetected by ze Canadian spies down below, Herr Colonel. Likely Mr. Meyers had his spies around. Ve have received reports zey can be disguised as a bush or a rock, so ve cannot be sure. But vhat ve do know for sure, Herr Colonel, is zat ve still know NOTHING! **NOTHING!"**

"There were not ze zree buildings zat have been reported, zat vere said to be in ze photographs taken by zat swine – Schiergen!?" Klink insisted, pushing for the answer he wanted to hear from his Sargent. _Wilhelm Klink paused momentarily to wallow in the memory of his sweet revenge on Schiergen, his monocle loosening, and needing to be re-secured, as he remembered ordering his best pilot to take the little, jockey man up for one last flight and push him out, preferably into a lake so as to hide the body. The small, brave man, who had answered their ad, had been stupid enough to admit to being a double agent, and telling Klink that he had shown his photographs of the airbase to their sworn enemies as proof that the Germans knew of the secret airbase's existence, he had begged so for his tiny little life._

"You did not see ze zree buildings from ze sky, you dummkopf? Ze one building is very, very large, even as ze two Canadian captives zemselves have told us zey have seen vith zeir very own eyes, vith a little help from ze truth serum, of course?" the Colonel grabbed for straws.

"No, Herr Colonel. Zere vas NOTHING! **NOTHING!** " Schultz told.

"Zis is not good news for zeir Detective Murdoch," Colonel Klink stated. Ve vill need to make another film. Bring Murdoch and Pendrick to ze Verther's vat… Alert Dr. Klemper, and ze others."

 _Schultz grew green with the image, seeing in his mind's eye the body of the detective being flung into the enormous gurgling vat, the horrid vat always subconsciously reminding Schultz of his childhood fears of being cooked in a witch's cauldron, and he felt a creepy chill now in imagining seeing the detective's various body parts slowly being engulfed by the boiling, sticky-thick, liquid…_ Schultz couldn't help it. He liked the detective. He couldn't bear the thought of being forced to murder the man so. He would argue… stand up for the innocent Detective Murdoch…He, a mere, lowly Sargent, would talk his colonel out of killing the Canadian in cold blood. " _But how…_ "

Suddenly, startling Schultz out of his thoughts, Colonel Klink yelled, "No! Vait!" _Wilhelm Klink reprimanded himself_ _for rushing to action in response to anger._ His brain insulting him, " _You imbecile! You imbecile! It never works to let ze emotions overpower ze logic… You need more time to make a plan…"_

"Let me think…" the most famous and ruthless spy in all of Germany said, tapping the tips of his one hand against those of his other.

Seeing his opportunity, Schultz acted. "Very vise, Herr Colonel. Ve may need to rely on the detective's knowledge of vhere he saw ze airbase… He may come to remember. Perhaps if given the opportunity to see ze view from ze airplane, to help ze lowlife scum Canadian be able to better remember zan vhen he has been looking for it on our map…"

 _Klink reminded himself that he had planned ahead. He had already set up what he now would use. He had made a ransom request of Meyers, of the Canadians, his enemies, Germany's enemies, and they had made their choice._ _The Canadian swine had not met the ransom._

"Zough zat may be true, you dummkopf," Klink gave, yet reluctant to appear to be considering his Sargent's advice, he added, "Ve cannot appear veak. No. No. Ze Canadian detective must die – for Germany. Ve vill use zeir Mr. Pendrick as collateral for ze next demand."

) (

As the three of them met in the Inspector's office, ideas flying about the room, George excusing himself momentarily to go get tea for them all, the Sun rose above the horizon. William only had a few hours left on the kidnaper's clock, and there had been no word from Meyers. The Inspector listened as Julia stated what she thought were important clues. George came back into the room to hear her arguments for the fact that William and Pendrick's captors were German spies. He agreed.

"Even if that is so, we don't know where to look for these German spies. Perhaps Meyers has already done so, for all we know," the Inspector worried, feeling helpless but trying to hide it for Murdoch's wife's sake.

Julia slowed herself down a little, taking a sip of tea. _Damnit, even that reminded her of William_. "Remember, in the film, it looked hot. Everyone was sweating…"

"That's true sir," Crabtree piped in, "Not just Detective Murdoch and Mr. Pendrick, who arguably could have been sweating because of fear…" George crunched down a little, regretting commenting on their fear, thinking, too late, that being so aware of the detective feeling scared would further upset Dr. Ogden. He faltered for a second, but then recovered, "Err, uh… Well, even the man in the mask. Um, he was sweating quite a lot as well… Of course, he was quite fat, sir, which would have made it worse for him…"

"And they all had their sleeves rolled up," Julia added.

"All right, I'll grant you that it was hot where they had them… But, **bloody hell** , so what?" the Inspector had felt the rush of fear, had masked and coped with it by shifting it into anger, and regretfully, aimed in the wrong place… very wrong.

Julia Ogden was no wimp though, and the Inspector's anger seemed to only enliven her call to fight. "So, Inspector," she answered, her voice strong, "So, we should look for German-owned buildings… businesses that would produce a great deal of heat. Perhaps ironworks…"

Crabtree would try. "Or deep down in a mine! That can be very hot," he suggested.

"Don't be daft, Crabtree. There aren't any mines in Toronto," the Inspector barked.

"Well, not in Toronto, sir. But I read about a new gold mine starting in northern Ontario… had a strange name, something about it made me think it was German…" Crabtree, off on a tangent, according to the roll of the Inspector's eyes, worked to remember. George knew he had at best, two more seconds. "Oh yes! It was Swastika," he declared. "It's a gold mine. It would be hot!" he offered.

The door swung open. All eyes turned to see. The empty space at the place where the door stood ajar was unsettling. Hence, the mood was set before Terrence Meyers even stepped into the Inspector's office. Try as he might, the spy failed in hiding the disappointment, the fear, the guilt, on his face…

And instantly, Julia's heart sank. " _William…_ " her inner-depths whispered, and she rallied and she fought against the upsurge of the heat and the swelling in her throat, and the sting in her eyes. She would not cry. She would not give up on him. Not yet… perhaps not ever.

Inspector Brackenreid greeted the man, "Mr. Meyers. Any luck?" he asked.

Julia's legs twitched, and part of her brain told her to run out of the room – not to hear it… " _My God, don't let yourself hear it!"_ it screamed…

Coming clean right away, Meyers said, "From the drop, we followed their man to a location. He went inside. Never came out. When we finally went in after him, hours and hours later, figuring it might be the enemy spies' hideout location, well…" Meyers removed a cigar, from his inside coat pocket, began the search for his matches.

Julia stood, drawing everyone's gasp. "Mr. Meyers," she scolded, "You will not drag this out! Did you find William?" she demanded to know.

 _His heart broke for the woman_. "We did not," he told her straight-out, "I'm sorry, doctor," he shriveled up his lips, "We did not."

Silence, as the shock sunk in, sparkled and dazzled the room in the astounding, dust-floating, stillness. Stunning, the loss of the ability to breathe, the sudden existence in a vacuum of the intolerable.

George recovered first. He fought against the unacceptable pain. "So, it wasn't their hideout… But we could still find it?" his tone flipped to a wishful pleading at the end of his sentence.

Meyers would tell what he knew, at least what he believed was relevant to what they needed to know to grasp the situation. "When we went inside the building, we found the man we had followed from the drop, shot dead…"

 _Julia knew it, just knew it somehow, but wouldn't say it. The bullet holes would not line up. They wouldn't line up, like William had figured out when they first found the man identified as Wimmer, the man who had died trying to protect William from these dreadful villains, the same villains who now held him captive again. This man Meyers spoke of now would have been giving himself up. Would have been saying that he didn't want the money, please just let him go, but he would have been shot by these bloodthirsty spies all the same, just like the man falsely identified as Wimmer, and the other man, the one falsely identified as Adam Trappe, who had been used in the trap to capture William this time… And now this man shot last night, their last chance to find William, too, killed with his hands raised above his head… She just knew it._

"The envelope with the false location of the airbase was no longer on his person, and we could not ascertain how the individual who collected it escaped without being seen…" Meyers paused, seemed to notice that Julia had refocused in again. He gave her the slightest nod and went on, "However, we know he must have delivered the location to the enemy spies because our men staked out at the false location we gave in the envelope left at the drop, and they heard a plane overhead. They reported that the plane flew very high at dawn. And that it had see-through wings, making it very hard to find in the sky. The captors must have used such an airplane to see if there was an airbase located where we had claimed. They would have seen that there was not, um… I'm sorry to say." He couldn't bring himself to light the match. He felt sick. He put the cigar back in his pocket.

The Inspector, Julia and George glanced back and forth between themselves, each one seeming to ask the other for help. Perhaps it was no surprise that Julia would be the one to supply it, but she knew he was still alive, and she knew there was still hope.

"There is still time till the deadline… And the spies may have decided not to kill him. We need to keep trying. We would like to investigate this building Mr. Meyers," she stood. She would not be taking no for an answer.

) (

George even tilted his head to the side like the detective when he imagined the playing out of a crime. They were up on the roof, Brackenreid thinking it might have been used as a means of escape without being seen by Meyer's men surrounding the place. It was the highest building in the area. George saw it in his mind's eye… a man jumping across to the next roof, two stories lower. _He would not make it – too far_. He re-tilted his head, and thought of the circus… " _The human cannonball? Perhaps he shot himself across to the next building._ " Quickly, George cleared his throat and tugged at his collar. He was grateful he hadn't said that one aloud. " _Of course,_ " he reminded himself, " _there would be a cannon over here_."

But his next idea felt right! " _Wires! He used wires! And all he would need to do was cut the wire once he was on the other roof_ …" George walked over to the wall where the stairs came up to the roof. "Look here!" he called, finding the evidence. Secured into the wall was the hook that had held the wire. "That's how he escaped!" George declared. "There was a wire… down to the next roof. He hung from below it, slid down, and then cut the wire away."

Brackenreid gave him a slap on the back, celebrating. "Well done Crabtree," he granted. However, none closer to finding the detective, the happy mood disappeared faster than it came.

Back downstairs in that same building, they joined up with Dr. Ogden. She reported that the bullet hole in the dead man's shirt was, as she had expected, too low when compared with the bullet wound through his heart. Thus, he too, had been giving up to his murderer when shot. Not something she would normally have done _at the crime scene_ , Julia had been impatient, she admitted, and had used a bullet extractor to remove the bullet – _it too had reminded her of William, for it was the first gift she had ever given him…_ _a bullet extractor_ _, and it had been such a lovely, lovely memory, bringing tears to her eyes._ The bullet in this victim's chest was from a 9mm, the same caliber of gun that had killed Meyers' man, the man who had tried to help William the first time he was abducted, and it was also the same caliber as the bullet found in the chest of the man who had been murdered and used in the latest trap, the diabolical trick these same spies had used to capture William this second time.

"All three victims," Dr. Ogden speculated, sharing her thoughts with Brackenreid, Crabtree and Meyers, "could have been shot with the same gun. I'll try to match the barrel striations to the bullet from Weimer when we get back. Unfortunately, I can't do so for your man, Mr. Meyers, since you took the evidence from us," she rubbed her anger and frustration in, stinging the head Canadian spy with it, with all the times now, that he had risked and endangered her husband's life.

Julia, George and Brackenreid all knew, as they rode back to Stationhouse #4, that the twelve-hour deadline had passed. Quiet, solemn, they arrived and then went about their routines, pushing themselves to work faster than usual, find more and better clues than usual… HIS life depended on it… Mr. Pendrick's too. The men went to work sending constables out to check various factories for the hidden prison being used to hold Murdoch and Pendrick in the film – factories that were hot, and preferably run by German entrepreneurs. Most such factories that they had found involved working with metals. Dr. Ogden performed the postmortem on the man shot last night in Meyers' bungled attempt to find her husband.

) (

The postmortem complete, Dr. Ogden sat at her desk working on the report. She had specifically searched for similarities to the other cases, like the sweet smell and layer of dust that had been on William – in this case it was not present… And matching the marks on the bullets to see if they were fired from the same gun. _Memories of long ago intruded, from back in time when she was sitting here at this same desk, reflecting in the same glass window. William was in England then, but she was so worried that he was dead. In the glass, his beautiful face aroused her butterflies as he tipped his hat at her, and the way he looked down, and then back up at her, offering his first, "very awkward," apology…_

She forced herself back to the report. The 9mm bullets, one from Mr. Trappe's, really Mr. Weimer's, chest wound, and the other from this new victim, were so, so close to being a match, to being from the same gun, but in the end it appeared that they were not. " _Still,"_ she thought, " _the spies doing the killing would likely use the same make of weapons… Perhaps we could question ammunition venders who sell 9mm…"_

 _ **Bam**_ , the morgue door slammed…

 _And so immediately her expectation had been that it would be William_ …

And her heart grew heavy and weak, for _she had already corrected her mistake_ by the time she saw that it was George. And then the wallop of panic upon seeing George's face, her brain deprived of oxygen, she grew dizzy from holding her breath, _and the high-pitched hum of terror began, like a single violin note in the background_ , to play. She knew she was fighting against plummeting into shock.

"Constable?" she managed to ask, though she heard the quiver in her own voice.

He fidgeted with his constable's helmet, "Doctor," his voice had been too low, he pushed himself harder for the needed volume, "Another package has arrived," he told her.

She would never remember walking with George over to the stationhouse, greeting the Inspector and Terrence Meyers, would never know what it was they said to each other as they waited in William's office together while George set up the projector and the screen. And yet, she would never be able forget what she saw on that screen… never in a thousand years.

 _ **The film sputtering and flickering, finally solid and reliable, the image comes into focus bright on the screen, both William and Pendrick in the same chairs as before… same white sheet hung up in the background. Pendrick, on the right, wears a hood. William, who appears to be unconscious, with his head tilted back against the back of the chair, is unhooded, but there is a hood on the floor next to his chair. Again, there are indications that it is extremely hot – the men sweating, sleeves rolled up, upper shirt buttons undone. William has on his vest, his badge pinned in place. Both men are once again secured to their chairs by ropes, and their wrists appear to be bound in their laps as well. Pendrick taps his foot, suggesting he is nervous.**_

 _ **The same masked man as in the first film crosses in front of the camera, coming into view. He takes the hood from the floor and drapes it over William's head, fastening it taught under his neck, William's listless body offering no resistance. He then walks in front of the camera – off screen… The man returns with a pistol. He halts about five feet from William.**_

The room somehow held its breath and gasped.

 _ **Without hesitation, he aims the gun down at the right side of William's head, pulls the trigger. William's head shoots out a fountain of blood into the air from the exit wound on the opposite side of his head, cascading the warm liquid all over Pendrick.**_

Julia shouted out, "NO!"

And George covered his mouth, smothering a similar cry.

Falling to her knees, seemingly begging the screen, Julia frantically cried, "No! No! No! No…" And she took to wailing, battling to breathe between each bone-chilling cry, as she rocked back and forth, her shadow blocking the projection of the image in little ripples of agony.

And all three men attended to her… and the film rolled on.

 _If William Murdoch could have heard the woman he loved screaming in pain as Julia was, he would have collapsed from a broken heart, the sounds worse than the bloodcurdling screams he had had to withstand when working undercover at Jonathan Ogden's meatpacking plant, thousands of times more devastating than the shattering screeches of the pigs he had chained to the ceiling hoist, sending them hurling upwards rapidly into the air, catapulted by their hind-legs, taken overhead, taken, completely taken, with excruciating, unbearable, pain, and breath-stealing fear, to be dragged helplessly across the ceiling to meet their inevitable, irreversible, fate. The sounds of it, the sounds of her, would have utterly destroyed him._

 _ **On the screen, there is a subtle settling of William's still hooded head down near his left shoulder, and Pendrick, now splattered and sprayed with William's blood, flinches, and thrashes, the tumult of his reaction throwing his chair off balance and sending him crashing to the floor, only to continue his thrashing about while still bound in the overturned chair.**_

 _ **The masked man lowers his pistol… then walks around to right Pendrick's chair. It is now clear that the bullet went through William's head and into Pendrick's right shoulder.**_

 _Julia began to chant, to desperately try to reassure herself, saying over and over, "It isn't him. It isn't him. It isn't him…" She felt so sick, needed to swallow back the terror, the disgust, the sickening spinning out of control…_

 _ **Walking in front of the camera once more, then back in view without the pistol now, the masked man holds an envelope in his blood-soaked hand. Standing off to the side, allowing the camera to see, he grabs at William's chest, unpinning his badge and dropping the badge into the envelope. Next, he tugs William's lifeless hands forward further on his lap. Wrists still bound together, he grasps the band on William's left ring finger, twisting and struggling to get it off, finally does so, and then he drops it into the envelope as well.**_

Julia was still rocking, trancelike, on the floor, George holding her, trying with all his might to quiet her suffering, "Shh. Shh, doctor. It's alright," he comforted, glancing at times up at the screen, then looking back into the doctor's blue, overly dilated, eyes. _"She was seeing it!"_ George told himself with such despair _… "She was seeing it!"_

 _ **Carrying the bloody envelope, which would eventually make its way to stationhouse #4, out of sight of the camera, the masked man then comes back, walking directly to Pendrick. He removes Pendrick's hood.**_

 _ **Ghastly, pale, and obviously horrified, Pendrick looks over at William, appears to begin to sob and scream – the intensity only magnified by the film's silence. He gets whacked in the head by the masked man. Then Pendrick attempts to compose himself. Only seconds later, turning his face away from William, James Pendrick retches and vomits all over the floor.**_

 _ **The masked man unties William's ropes, lifts him from the chair from behind, strapping his arms under William's limp armpits and across his chest, and drags him back towards the sheet in the background. The sheet drops away, revealing a huge vat, steam rising from it.**_

 _Unable to withstand what she was seeing, Julia screamed out, "William! No! No..." And fell into earthshattering sobbing._

 _ **On the screen, the masked man struggles to heave William's body over the edge and into the vat, but the binds at the wrists become snagged on a bolt that holds a large overhead rod, likely used to mix whatever liquid is in the vat. The masked man looks off in the distance, seemingly listening, then cowering and apologizing, to someone off camera, then rushes to free William's wrists, and in that last second, William's body is gone, dropped away into the vat. Every trace of William now gone.**_

 _Julia quieter now, yet still sobbing…_

 _ **Once more, the masked man crosses in front of the camera, returning with a sign which he places in Pendrick's lap. It reads,**_

 _ **I die unless airbase location**_

 _ **in newspaper and made accessible**_

 _ **to us by noon tomorrow –**_

 _ **NO TRICKS**_

Julia fell completely apart. Her cries broke the hearts, thoroughly broke the hearts, of the men in the room, for all three of them knew of the power of the love the couple had shared… and with such a love, the pain of the loss would be insufferable.

"No, no…" Julia seemed to speak to the air, to the Universe.

Her voice so breathless, so stressed, it delivered only the squeakiest of tones, "It's not possible. It isn't him. Of course not. It isn't him. It isn't William," she promised herself, resuming her hypnotic rocking. "It's fake. Some other man – not William. His face was covered! It's not him…" and she fell into breath-shattering sobbing once more. George and the Inspector helped her up from the floor. George flicked off the spinning, ticking film reel. The Inspector helped her onto a stool at William's worktable.

Gasping between each plea, Julia tried, "It's like… what William did with Anna. It's the same as with… Anna. It's a setup… To make us think he's dead…"

The Inspector couldn't bear watching her… Couldn't handle the dragging out of the inevitable in his own heart. Such compassion in his voice, Thomas Brackenreid said, "But doctor, that was Murdoch, not the bloody Germans! Why would the German's fake his death? They kill everyone who gets in their way. They killed the man Meyers here put in charge of watching out for him… They killed Trappe – um… Weimer, one of their own… killed Schiergen, one of their own…"

George would stand with her in her denial, arguing, "But Schiergen had hidden photographs of the airbase, or at least what they probably thought was the airbase, in his flat. He might have been a double agent…"

Julia added, George's support making her stronger, "The Germans would have killed Schiergen because he was a threat to them, because he was showing the photographs to someone else." She looked to Meyers.

"Well, I too think it most likely that the kidnappers are German spies," he gave, "but I have to agree with Inspector Brackenreid, the Germans would have no reason to fake Murdoch's death," Mr. Meyers said.

"To convince us they mean business," George rushed to offer. "They could have put another man under the hood. We couldn't see his face. But then we would be more likely to tell them where the base is… to save Pendrick," he suggested.

Julia felt she had proof, "There would be no other reason to cover his head…"

" _Thank God_ _they didn't film Murdoch being shot in the head in full view_ ," Brackenreid thought, " _that would have been absolutely devastating…"_

Meyers spoke up, his voice calm, soothing, "They spared us that at least, doctor" he said. "But we saw that it was Detective Murdoch that they put the hood on…"

 _Julia's face wrinkled and reddened… Her head began to shake back and forth…_

"I'm afraid it was him," Meyers continued, _collapsing her into hysteria._

Begging, pleading, she tried again. "There were two different men – the first was William alive, the second someone else who was killed," she shrieked.

"Stop it, doctor," Brackenreid would be the strong one, "Just stop it. He's gone."

George joined in, "No, no… because it's Detective Murdoch, he can't be gone."

"He's right there in the film," Brackenreid came back insisting at the obvious, "You saw it for yourself."

They made George replay the film.

Julia found it unbearable to watch it again, folding forward, shielding her eyes from the sight.

"You've got to look, doctor," the Inspector said softly, putting his hand on her back. _The way he saw it, she was only adding to her own suffering dragging it out like this._ "He's dead. We see him get killed… right there. We see it," he begged the woman to accept it, as he felt tears fill his own eyes, and he looked once more at the bright screen and he saw his best man…"

 _And then Brackenreid failed to hide his own devastation and fell into crying._

Holding strong, never willing to let go of her last string to surviving this, Julia pleaded, "It can't be him, Inspector. William always figures out a way. Maybe William set this up to make the spies think he was dead, so they would stop looking for him…" She sniffled, and wiped her nose, the Inspector once again handing her a handkerchief. "William always found a way out…"

"Not this time," the Inspector whispered.

 _And with that, Julia crumbled._ At first, her sobs… words, "No. No. No. No. No. No. No," then simply weeping, with humungous efforts to gasp for air between each wail. Finally asking, "How will I tell the children?" and falling into the Inspector's arms.

)

Later, the four of them convened in the Inspector's office, after having left the detective's office, blinds still down, easing the potential pain of looking in through the glass windows and seeing his desk, and his worktable, and his gadgets. They would share in a scotch. They would help each other cope.

First they addressed the kidnappers' note with the instructions for leaving the newspaper ad, again planning on providing a fabricated location, for there was not a real Canadian airbase, and Meyers' spies would try, once again, to find the location that the enemy spies were using to hold Pendrick. Then there came a time when the Inspector went through the remaining contents of the envelope.

"One badge, wedding ring…"

The physical effects… made what had happened seem so real, so painful. Julia's reaction to them seemed to spur Julia into taking up her fight to convince them, to convince herself, once more, that it was NOT William who had been shot in the film. "They got William's clothes from the first time they abducted him… when he was left for dead, naked in our bed. And this time William escaped, but they pretended they still had him… and they pretended that they killed him, so Meyers would feel pressured to tell the location of the airbase because he would then believe they would really go through with killing Pendrick too!" she suggested.

George brightened up immediately. "Dr. Ogden has a good point, sirs," he declared, recharged, "They could have gotten his badge from that first time too! It was never returned."

Back in the dreadful position of needing to help them see the truth, the painful, catastrophic truth that Detective William Murdoch was dead, the Inspector gave them the bad news, "This badge is the newer one, the one I gave Murdoch to replace the first badge. They had him. We know that… and… I'm afraid your husband was the man in the chair, doctor, the one they shot… And we saw it…"

And Julia's face went pale, and her eyes filled with tears once more…

And the Inspector would say it, as it was, so it would be undeniable, but still, his voice choked up as he did so, he reminded, after he swallowed, "We saw them put the hood on your husband, and we saw the bullet… went through his head, landed in Pendrick's shoulder. It was quick. He didn't feel anything doctor. He's at peace now."

She added, falling apart as she did so, "And they dumped his body into acid… It was probably acid, and even if we could stop them now, it would be just a femur, only the biggest bones left now…"

Mr. Meyers, struggling so with his own guilt, it having harbored him from truly calling to action the compassion he felt for them in this unimaginable situation, with this unimaginable loss – a loss that he knew in his heart, was his fault, and his alone, Mr. Meyers rather quietly suggested, knowing it would highlight his first, utterly crucifying action in all of this, he still said, "I would wager it was some sort of radioactive substance …" He cleared his throat, and went on, "Not acid, I don't think. The Germans were working with Polonium, trying to make a weapon that could kill thousands and thousands of people… And such substances can produce a great deal of heat… That would explain the steam rising from the vat, and the sweating."

The fury Julia felt surprised her. She could honestly say that she _hated_ the man for what he had done. Her eyes burned through Terrence Meyers. The hate, the anger gave her strength.

The Inspector reminded, quite tactfully, for he too felt the sting of the betrayal, "Yes, yes, Mr. Meyers, you would know now, wouldn't you. Now… I'm sure you never wanted such a thing to happen. I believe you yourself had a soft spot for Detective Murdoch…"

Meyers nodded, and surprised everyone in the room, for the head spy of the Canadian government, a man who could be coldblooded and ruthless and uncaring, choked up, and nodded faster, and scratched out, "I did."

Brackenreid continued, "Well, there's still Pendrick…and he needs us. So we need to think, to figure out where they're holding him… Murdoch would want that… for us to still try to save his friend." He looked back down at the shiny, blood-covered badge in his hand. With his eyes away from those of the others, he felt the resurgence of his own tears. He swallowed. He needed to be strong for them. Lifting the bloody envelope to replace the badge, he thought about the other item in the envelope, _Murdoch… only man he knew to stoop so low as to wear a wedding ring, and it dawned on him in that moment, that it wasn't low – that it was right, for he knew Murdoch had loved the doctor more than anything in the world…_

Crabtree jumped up out of his seat. "Sir," he said, "The masked man… The masked man in the film. He touched the badge, sir. He didn't have gloves!"

"Fingermarks!" Brackenreid declared.

And Julia's mind leaped, flung with all its might at the one, last, dangling thread of hope. Her gasp of realization drew all of their eyes to her.

 _Amazing, how a woman who had been through the worst horror of her life could look so beautiful, all three of the men noticed it._

"That's…" she found she would have trouble saying it, so much so that she rephrased it, "That has the blood… the blood of the victim on it. It might not…" Her eyes pleaded so. "It might not match William's blood type…"

And everyone thought it, without saying it, _and it might match… too._

The Inspector, careful not to further damage any evidence on the badge, carefully slipped it back into the envelope. He stood and walked it over to Julia. "Test it doctor," he said.

She backpedaled for her sense of being able to survive it. "We will know for certain if it doesn't match," and then hope slipped out of her voice, "And if it does match, well… we have to be clear, it would still mean it could be someone else…" she swallowed, trying to believe in the scientific truth of her statement, "someone else besides William with the same blood type as him."

"Crabtree, go with her," Brackenreid ordered, for the Inspector knew Dr. Ogden should not be alone, particularly if the blood matched her husband's in the end.

) (

The tears that pooled in her eyes were so thick that she had trouble seeing the state of coagulation through the microscope, but the fact that her eyes welled so quickly meant that she already knew, she had already seen the results. " _The blood matched William's…"_

" _It could still NOT be him. It could. It could_ ," she chanted at herself.

Crabtree, pretending to be busy with dusting for the fingermarks on the badge, was done quite some time ago, and now dwelled in her periphery as she struggled to hold on to hope.

She thought about the badge George was examining, keeping her eyes down, hiding from him her state, hiding it for a little while longer, the losing of her faith. Her brain flashed, _first a memory of the masked man grabbing at the dead man's chest – Was it really William? Was it really him?_ The question intruded… _Then the memory was replaced by one from further back, of the two of them standing together in their little girls' bedroom door, Chelsea in her arms._ Julia swallowed as the build-up of tears overflowed, and humungous drops of salty liquid rolled down her cheeks. _The baby had been fascinated with his badge, and they agreed the older one had more character. He had asked her to marry him…_

And she was holding her breath, for she knew she could not breathe without giving away her crying…

And her thoughts drifted… back to the badge in George's fingers, and then to the blood on the slide under her microscope. _**Maybe**_ _it was William's blood_ – and then the thought, with it the memory of the night she had performed the emergency, life-saving transfusions on him, and she thought, " _Maybe it's mine… Maybe it's William Jr.'s, too_." And Julia breathed in so as not to explode with the agony…

And George rushed to her side. And she let herself cry in his arms, on his shoulder. And after a time, her sobbing quieted, and George told her it would be alright, and she told him it wouldn't be… And he agreed with her, that it would not.

The two of them walked together, back over to the stationhouse, and they told the Inspector, (for Meyers had left, needing to prepare for the second attempt at tricking the kidnappers into leading them to their secret hideout – in some very hot factory somewhere), and the two of them told the Inspector that the blood on the badge matched William's.

Try as she might, Julia failed to hold herself together, and she crumbled terribly with the thought of telling the children. The Inspector called Margaret. She hurried to help, volunteering to take them tonight… their nanny could come too, they would be fine.

Both the Inspector's and George's eyes teared-up as they stood by Dr. Ogden's side, when she called her home, to tell them to expect Mrs. Brackenreid, and to pack a bag for the children overnight, and Julia heard Eloise's voice answer the phone, and Julia knew the woman would grasp the enormity of her aguish, and Eloise would care so deeply for her, and she completely fell apart, sobbing so hard that she could make little more than gasping, moaning, sounds into the phone, and Eloise could be heard through the phone, asking her, asking her, "What is it doctor? What is it, dear?"

The Inspector had to take the phone, told the housekeeper that there was potentially bad news about the detective, but it was not yet definite. Eloise said to let the doctor know that she would be spending the night with her so as to ensure she would not be alone. She would sleep in the guest room. She would be there for her. She would help. When the Inspector first told the doctor what Eloise planned to do for her, Dr. Ogden only cried harder, somehow the older woman's compassion ripping through any boundary of resistance she had. But she was grateful for it, truly grateful.

The Inspector offered her another scotch, Crabtree too. They both accepted the offer, looking to ease the pain. Finally, Julia was dry-eyed… about to head home. George thought of a practice a tribe he had read about used to help them cope with the death of a significant loved one. He shared it with them.

"The well-loved leader knew he would die soon, as did all those who loved him. They were very sad. The leader called a meeting. He instructed each person to bring two sticks to the meeting. As they gathered together, they sat in a circle with the leader at the head. He told them to come up to him when he called them, but to bring only one of their sticks. One-by-one, he called them up. Each time he took the single stick and broke it, adding the broken pieces into the pile at his feet. Then he repeated the same instructions, but this time he held each stick. Gradually, the handful of sticks grew thicker and thicker, until he could barely hold them all. After the last person had brought forward their last stick, the leader attempted to break the bundle in half. He was unable to do so. He told them, "This is how I want you to handle my death – together, you are stronger, together, you are strong enough."

The story resonated deeply for all three of them, and they knew too, that their circle extended outward from here as well. Julia felt their support, and she thanked them both. And then, with the Inspector accompanying her, she went home… home to their house, home without William.

George stayed behind. He did not tell them, but he had something he had to do. He had not told them, but he had _not_ given up hope. He had a hunch. And he would work all night to find the proof.

) (

The Tower Card had been played and disaster had struck. Betrayed by the fortunes, Julia felt the devastating card had come too quickly, and though she had had her instincts, about the captors being German and the location being hot, she had expected to have had time to follow them through, to have had time to save him from his fatal fall. She wondered, but the idea flew away so fast, if she still had time, if her intuition card had yet to be played. She answered herself, without truly digging deeply first, " _Not intuition that he is still alive, not intuition that you could still save him from the catastrophe of the Tower. No, it is just a stage of grief... denial."_

He would want her to try to save James Pendrick, the Inspector was right, but she was not up to the task. She decided to take a sleeping draft. She would cope tomorrow.

 _A minor card, the fateful gypsy not usually even offering such a trivial, unreliable chance – the Nine of Cups, small details… like William and his clues_.

Julia told herself that intuition works best when asleep, that the clues would likely come in dreams. The sleeping draft would help her sleep. Yet, the Nine of Cups warned against indulgences, using indulgences to hide from the truth, and she needed to see that truth if she was to save him. She dumped the draft – it seemed Julia Ogden had not given up hope after all.

 _Julia wouldn't quit, would never give up looking for him until she had definite proof that he was dead... never, ever, give up, never._

Upstairs in bed, alone, sometimes trying to accept the he was dead… and that she needed to tell the children, that she needed to accept it, and adapt to it, but then at other times still not believing it was true – being profoundly _stuck_ with fact that _his head was covered_ … when the man in the film – the man in _William's_ clothes, in the chair they had seen _William_ in – next to Pendrick… with _William's_ badge, _his newest badge_ pinned to his chest, removed and put in the envelope… after _William_ was shot – the blood on it matching William's – _**it could be someone else – William could still be,**_ _ **her instincts told her that he was**_ _ **, still alive. "Trust your instincts," she reminded herself. The image of The High Priestess Card appeared in her mind. She did trust it! She did! But no one else did. And she didn't think she could save him alone… How could she convince them?**_

Sleep far from coming, Julia turned to her journal, figuring writing might help her unearth her intuitions. Her flower-covered journal was in William's night-table drawer – with HIS. William's journal, simple, plain brown in color, stuck out from under hers. She remembered the first time she had ever seen it. William had commented to Emily about them both knowing something important about death, after Emily's friend and lover, Lillian, had been killed. He had written about his near-death experience in his journal, and William had shared it with her. Then, after that, so many, many times they had shared what they had written over the years in their journals with each other. It had been lovely. They had an agreement, one would never read the other's journal without them knowing… _But that was before William d…_

Then, she noticed them, the corners of the envelopes just barely protruding out from under the edge of his brown-covered journal, tucked under hers. William had written letters! There were four. In his handwriting, their names – Chelsea, Katie, William Jr… Julia, singular and clear on each envelope.

 _Chelsea,_

 _If you are reading this then I passed when you were very young. I wanted to see you grow, my beautiful baby... but death came for me sooner than I was ready. I hope that when it did, I had the grace to be grateful for it, to thank death for making my life as precious as it was, for without death, life would lack value, and my life was magnificent, and that was largely because I had you, my beautiful, baby girl, to light up my world with your smile, and your wonder, and your laugh. I know you will be brave, and I know you will be kind, and I am so very proud of you, my little daughter. I love you so. Know your Daddy loved you with all his heart. Grow up and live a meaningful life, full of connections with others. You will warm their world, as you warmed mine, and they will return that love to you – I promise, my baby girl… I promise._

 _Daddy_

 _Katie,_

 _You asked me if I was good, when we first met, and with those words you stripped me to my core. And it was with your help, that I saw that I was. You are a gift to the world, my little girl. And I love you so very, very much. Be generous, touch and care for others. This will be instinctive for you, and it will give your life immense value. Know you were loved, you were so very, very, loved, by your Daddy… and love others, with all your heart. Loving, my magnificent little girl, like you, is always good._

 _Daddy_

 _William Jr.,_

 _May you never forget what a miracle you are, my little man, no matter how big you grow up to be. I regret not being there to help you learn about the world, and so too, I feel such an immense loss knowing I was not able to be with you, as you moved through your sorrows, and your joys. I hope for you most of all, a life with challenges, for I know in my heart you will meet them, and overcome them, and in doing so, you will thrive. Live your life awake to the knowing that everyone, everything, every moment, has intrinsic value. When you hurt someone, strive to make it right, and let them do the same for you. I pray you will know a love as I have known with your mother. I wish for you that you never let fear stop you from doing what you know is right. And I hope, with all my might, that you cherish every second of your life, as I have treasured every second that I had with you._

 _Daddy_

 _Julia,_

 _It seems to me that before I met you, I never really knew fear, but once I loved you, and once you loved me, I had something that was so very precious… And from that moment on, life became amazing, astounding, wonderful, beautiful, perilous and terrifying all in the same second. And I have found that whenever I have tried to imagine living without you, it hurts so much that I must immediately stop. For it appears I would see you everywhere and in everything – in every sensation I would ever have. In each and every sparkle of light, or rustle of the leaves, each scent, each breeze, each taste, in each of them, there would be you. And, thus I know, in every centimeter, every second, of my existence, that it would be painfully obvious that I would be living each sensation, each moment, there in the world, without you. And as YOU are my everywhere, and my everything, I wonder, could I survive without being WITH you. And I know I just couldn't bear it, and I'm so sorry my love, for now it seems that you must. Know that my heart had broken in the end, because if you are reading this, then now I have left it to you to live each moment, each sensation this way, and I know that you must bear it. And though I know you can, for you are the strongest person I have ever, ever, known, I am so very sorry, for I know you will miss me – every moment, and knowing it hurts me so. I will truly love you forever, please know that._

 _William_

Folding each letter back into their envelopes, Julia told herself she should not have read them. They were for after he has dead – and she felt it even stronger now – he was not. She felt it in her bones, William was still alive. And she thought of the gypsy Tarot Card reader's fortune, and she remembered that the Tower Card was not at the end… that after it came so much. There was the Lovers Card, and thus she knew she needed to find him. And the Fool, and it told that something was making William act out of character, to be foolish in his behaviors and choices, and therefore he would need her with him even more. It was AFTER the Tower Card that the High Priestess card turned, that her intuition would be key.

The devastating calamity of the collapse of the Tower had happened, was happening all around. But that was not the end. _She knew something subconsciously – something important._ And _**it**_ would help her find him, and if they were together, if she was WITH him, then she could save him.

 _Perhaps she had already had the dream, had the intuition, but overlooked it_ , she wondered. There had been dreams last night. _What were they?_

 _Oh, she remembered the first one_. William was falling from a pole he was climbing, a bomb exploding apart the body of the man, the hostage, at the top – _so much like the shooting of the man in this film,_ she thought – in the dream, William falling backwards through the air…

" _There was another one with him falling, was there not_?" she asked herself. _Of course! The time he fell from the broken fire escape!_ He had broken an ankle and some ribs… and William had a huge gash on his right forearm, which had needed lots of stitches. She had treated it, while he convalesced at home. It had gotten infected, because William was being poisoned, and his defenses were down. She had lost him then and she was trying to withstand it, lost him because of her abortion, lost him to Enid Jones, worried she might lose him forever to the fever of the infection. _Julia knew this dream was significant_. " _ **Why!?"**_ her frustration grit her teeth and knotted her fists. Tears welled, and Julia rolled over onto her side, trying to turn the page, to avoid the pain.

Flash after flash of memories of snippets of last night's dreams played in her mind's eye – his homburg floated by… They were up in a wind-whistling treetop and he had shown her his love written forever in the tree trunk… William jumped up to join her in the hot air balloon… And unnoticed, Julia fell asleep.

 _ **Behind her in their bed, so delicious, Julia hears, feels, becomes aroused by, William nestling into her backside. "Mmm," he is warm, and firm, and so lusciously, scrumptiously**_ **hard** _ **. He slides and glides his right hand up and over the supple curves of her body. "Good morning, Mrs. Murdoch," his beautiful, warm voice in her ear. His fingers cup and mold her breast and he pushes harder into her, lighting her internal fuse. His fingers discover her pendant between her breasts. She had not worn it for quite some time. It was significant, their two pictures together inside it, from before she had left him for Buffalo, a testament to her love, their love, being eternal. Julia would join him in cherishing it, rides her hand up his forearm, noticing it is tight and strong, and so much bigger than hers, this manly arm. She wraps her hand over his, the pendant snug under their mutual grasp. About to tell him once more how much she loves him… But… There's something…**_

 _ **Something is not right! An alarm sounds in her head!**_

 _ **His laugh is pure evil.**_

 _ **Terror strikes her heart, bolts her into a jump. She thrashes and turns to look him in the eye. But he is a hooded man.**_

" _ **Are you William!?" she screams at him unsure – yet sure. Her certainty screeching her to the core. Julia attempts to remove the hood, and then…**_

 _ **POOF,**_

 _ **He is gone.**_

Heart pounding, nauseous with fear, Julia fought the urge to push the dream away. " _The dreams will have the intuitions,"_ she reminded. " _What first made you think something was wrong? His forearm. It wasn't William. How did I know?"_

POW – it hit her like a lightning bolt, one that would reveal hidden truths with its flash. _There was no scar! That was it! There was no scar on the forearm of the hooded man!_ William has a big gash, scarred from when he fell from the broken fire escape. When they removed his wedding ring in the film, and when his bound wrists got caught on the edge of the vat – _there was not a scar._ The man who was hooded, and shot in the head, and dumped in the steaming vat was _definitely not William_. And now she had proof, she could show them on the film. They would remember that injury – it was a big one, had him home convalescing for weeks…

 _ **The Tower Card had been played**_ , **but the fortune had not yet played out**. She had been led to believe William had already hit the ground, had already died, that his life, her chance of saving him, was all gone. _**But William was still falling**_. She still had time to save him, she still could save him. They had to find him – but where?

" _William would go back to the drawing board_ ," she thought. Julia put on her robe and rushed down the stairs to his workroom. It would be there, she felt certain. Her intuition, the Nine of Cups… She would find the little detail, the tiny clue, somewhere on the board… She just had to, and she had to do so quickly, for the sand was falling through the hourglass. Time was running out.

)) ((


	15. 15: Encountering the Astral Plane

Back to the Drawing Board_15_Encountering the Astral Plane

) (

Alert to the doctor, to the unbearable hardships the woman had been facing, unacceptable somehow, that the detective had been killed, Eloise slept lightly in the guest room down the hall. Julia had not been quiet or careful in her excitement – ecstatic with the discovery of the proof that William had not been killed in the film, she had rushed down to his workroom to look for clues to finding him, to saving him, on the blackboard. Eloise had heard her. Knowing that the couple tended to share hot chocolate in the middle of the night, for myriads of times there had been evidence from when they had done so in the sink the next morning, the older woman got up, put on her robe, and headed down to the kitchen to make two cups.

Clicking on his workroom light, Julia felt the repulsion, the creepiness, still lingering in her body, in her mind, set off by the bad dream she had just had. She pushed at the troublesome emotions, grateful for the enlightenment that had accompanied them. True, in the dream William had been… waking her, with the intention of making love, and true, in the dream he had suddenly changed into someone else, someone terrifying and revolting… _but, oh so significantly_ , also someone _without_ William's scar on his forearm from when he had fallen from the collapsing fire escape nearly a decade ago.

For the briefest of moments, Julia imagined that she saw William standing there studying the drawing board, as he so often did, hands in his trouser pockets, the view from this rearward angle quite stimulating. Her heart fluttered at the fantasized picture. _She did miss him_ … so very, very much. _My God she loved him…_

 _A twinge, a tweak, remembering the dream, becoming aroused, hearing his perfect voice in her ear, "_ _ **Good morning, Mrs. Murdoch**_ _," he had said, and she thought to herself, standing there alone in the middle of the night, how if William had died – she found it so hard to even think it – if William_ **still** __ **did** _ **die**_ _– she would never, ever, hear anyone ever call her that again…_

Sensing the importance of the moment, she stepped up to the board. Lady Minerva's voice, from when the fortuneteller had advised her in William's office, as Julia's fingers traveled over the minor arcana cards, seeking the hints, the small, specific details arising from the cards, the circus performer's voice once again coached, now instead of her hands seeking the clues, it was her eyes moving over chalky, dusty words – " _ **Trust your intuition.**_ _ **Do not think…**_ _ **FEEL**_ _ **."**_

Her eyes landed. " _Same place… same place again_ ," her inner voice noted, solidifying her confidence that it was the one. " _Sweet smell_ ," the words written to represent a clue from what seemed to be so long ago now, from the first night she saved him, transfusing not only her blood, but that of William Jr. as well, into him. William had had a sweet smell on him. Isaac had agreed. And a thin, thin layering of dust in his hair… " _What was it from? Think of the dreams…"_

Yet, it was not her dreams that rose up to her consciousness. No, instead it was another memory… once more of the gypsy Tarot Card reading in William's office, the kind-hearted woman taking the unusual step of allowing Julia to draw an extra card, albeit a minor card, to help, to serve as a hint, to spark her intuition. She heard it as her eyes stalled on the two little ghostly words – _sweet smell_ , "Upright it means comfort… something as simple as enjoying some sweets – for me it would be hard candies, for you…"

And her breath rushed out of her with her amazement, with her gasp. She had it! That was it! "Candy," she said aloud. " _Doesn't candy require high temperatures?"_ she asked herself. _Amazing, it had been so simple. She had been thrown off-track, distracted by hunting for exotic chemicals and poisons – the whole experience reminded her of the time she and William had discovered together that it was simple nicotine the killer had used that turned the victim's blood such an odd black color… She'd been so very jealous of Ruby – the enchanted, entranced look of William at the restaurant table with her, leaning to her, legs opened wide, gazing into her face…_

Not meaning to startle her, Eloise however did so, from the doorway, two steaming cups of creamy hot chocolate in her hands. "Have you thought of something, doctor? Do you think he's still…" The older woman stopped midsentence, mid-thought, _unable, she suddenly realized, to say it out loud, like it would be some sort of jinx._

Emotions of all kinds surged through Julia – the pins and needles of pumped adrenalin with nowhere to go, appreciation of the woman's kindness, a flood of warmth and comfort upon seeing what it was Eloise had brought with her – the warm cups of hot chocolate now stimulating deeply ingrained memories of William and herself sharing meaningful, heart-to-hearts in the middle of the night, usually after one or the other of them had had trouble sleeping. But mostly, _she felt it bubbling to the top_ , she felt excitement and hope… _and fate somehow_ , for if anyone would know something specific and detailed about cooking, it would be Eloise. And the question flew out of her before she had even registered what it was Eloise had asked her, "Eloise, does making candy require high temperatures?"

Now, Eloise had been with Dr. Ogden since back from before the doctor had left for Buffalo, since before she had married Dr. Garland (Dr. Ogden's first husband's choice of housekeeper rendering the good doctor in the clutches of that dreadful woman, the horrid Miss Miriam Weller – even to this day the retched woman's name made Eloise's skin crawl, the witch taking out her bigoted views of Catholics and strong, independent women out on the detective and the doctor by testifying so vilely against her in the trial)… Eloise had cared for Dr. Ogden for what seemed like three or four lifetimes now. She knew the total enthrallment that could happen to the woman when she was on a hunt for something or another. Eloise would need to convince the doctor to back up a bit in order to understand… but she also knew it was more constructive for her to try to catch up first. It was that way with the detective to, she noticed. She placed the cups down on the detective's worktable, already saying the answer. "Yes doctor. Chocolates and softer candies can be made in a normal kitchen, but the harder cand…"

"Oh Eloise!" Julia screamed, rushing to hug the woman just after she had safely gotten the hot cups down safely on the flat surface. "Yes! Yes..."

Eloise noticed there were tears forming in the doctor's beautiful blue eyes – happy tears – tears of relief…

"Yes, I'm sorry, I'm all over the place," Julia apologized, sniffling and wiping away a tear, "Yes, William is alive. I am certain. I have proof… um, a scar on his forearm that isn't on the man they shot in the ransom film the captives sent us. And I think he's in a candy factory… And it's probably where they make hard candy… I think… because it's very hot there…"

"That's wonderful, dear!" Eloise declared. _Grateful for the explanation, the inclusion in the game, Eloise noted that the detective had not mastered that degree of consideration, though she knew in her heart the detective meant only well, it is just that the man just got swept up. She figured that's what made him the best at what it is he did._

Julia looked at the two cups on the worktable. She began to shake her head. "I don't think I…" She looked up into Eloise's eyes, and instantly she knew it was alright.

"Of course, doctor. You must go. Shall I call someone for you while you dress?" the housekeeper, _the fairy godmother_ , asked.

Julia was already in motion. "Please. That would be helpful. Um, can you call Inspector Brackenreid and Constable Crabtree. Have them meet me at the stationhouse…" her feet started drumming the stairs, and then a quick halt. "Oh, Eloise?" she caught the woman's attention, "Do you know of any German companies that make hard candies?"

"Not right off, doctor. I'm sorry. But I'll think on it. Go on, now. I'm sure you are in a hurry," Eloise encouraged.

) (

Inspector Brackenreid had insisted he meet Dr. Ogden at her house and they go together to the stationhouse – the doctor could fill him in on what she had figured out while they rode together in the carriage. He was worried that Crabtree was not at his home, worried that the overzealous young man had gone off and gotten himself into some sort of trouble. And further, the Inspector was certain Murdoch – who according to the man's wife was still alive – would kill him if he let any harm come to his lovely bride, so he preferred to be with her as she set out into the darkest hours of pre-dawn to save to him.

Upon seeing the light on in Detective Murdoch's office when the cab pulled up to the station, the two of them agreed that it was most likely Crabtree. Julia wondered, optimistically, if perhaps George too had been thinking about inconsistencies – about problems with – the film. However, when they came in and checked William's office, blinds still down, they found that, although the projector and the screen were set up, Crabtree was nowhere to be sight. Figuring Crabtree might have discovered something when re-watching the film, and then run-off to further investigate, Brackenreid felt his concern, but also his hope, rising. He wanted to call Crabtree's residence once more… before sending the only constable available this time of night out to check for him. When he clicked on the light…

Crabtree bolted upright, swinging and thrashing in self-defense, startled from a dream while sleeping on the Inspector's couch.

"Oh sir! Doctor!" he called out, so wobbly he fell over the edge, plopped onto the floor. "I err, I was uh… I don't remember what it was… I uh…"

"Something with the film George?" the doctor almost begged her question.

George righted himself, somehow the corrected change in blood-flow improving his ability to find the ground and remember. "Yes doctor!" he declared. "I had gotten to thinking…"

The Inspector rolled his eyes and moved to his desk. He just knew this would be a long and convoluted answer.

Crabtree rubbed his face, aggressively, trying to better wake up. "I remembered when I was acting in the film Mr. Pendrick made – remember… _The Filmed Adventures of Detective William Murdoch,_ and the detective had been too annoying when he was playing the role… You know how he can be… like remember at Eaton's Department Store when the detective worked the Returns Counter and the line went around the…"

"Get to the bloody point, Crabtree!" the Inspector bellowed, patience gone.

 _Of course, the Inspector was right._ He had gone off on a tangent, possibly two… " _What was my point?"_ he asked himself, still so groggy…

Dr. Ogden interrupted, "George, the film will have the proof, I'm sure of it. **William is alive**."

"Well, I think I can prove he _**could**_ be alive… um…," George tried to offer her as much hope as he could without having it be false hopes. He looked solidly up from the floor into the doctor's blue eyes. He leaned forward and managed to get himself back on the couch.

Dr. Ogden glanced at the Inspector. He was leaving it to her to explain. After all, it was her discovery. "George, remember that William had fallen from the broken fire escape and sustained a multitude of serious injuries…" She waited for his nod. "One of them was a scar on his right forearm…"

"Oh yes, I remember doctor. It had become quite infected – life-threatening if I remember correctly…

"Yes," she rushed, "And I believe the man in the film – later, um, I know it was William at the beginning, before the hood got put on him, covering his face… I mean I know that, but later, when we can see his hands closer up, um, after he was shot… not then. The man in the film at the end doesn't have a scar. It's not William. I don't know how they did it, but I know they didn't kill him, they shot somebody else."

Headed together to the detective's office, Crabtree said, "That's very interesting doctor. I think I know how they did it… how they made it look like they killed Detective Murdoch in the film. You see, I remembered that when Pendrick was filming his movie about Detective Murdoch, they turned the camera on and off a lot. Mr. Pendrick would yell out, "Stop filming!" each time he wanted them to stop running the film. And then they would start again, him yelling, "And let's act." And sometimes they needed to try to start in the same place they had left off… and even if it was later in real life, well still, everything had to be the same, so it would look like it had happened right after the last time you were filming… Like if you were wearing your hat, it shouldn't suddenly not be on your head…"

The Inspector and Julia nodded, remembering when they were filming, and Pendrick doing those things, and even how much effort was put into starting and stopping so that things would be aligned.

"There was another sort of trick," George went on, "For making it look like you never stopped even though you did…"

George could tell as he paused, they were hanging on his next words. They understood this special trick would be something he had found in the film where the detective was supposedly shot.

You put something in front of the camera – the same thing, at the end and at the beginning… And it just looks like something blocked the view for a moment," George concluded.

The Inspector asked, "And they did that in this film?"

Julia rushed to deduct, "Between when the masked man put the hood on William and when he walked up with the gun?!"

George, gave the doctor a surprised glance.

She responded, explaining, "The man they put the mask on was William – we all saw it was him… unconscious, but definitely him. And if we could see his forearm at that point, it would have had a scar on it. But the man who had his ring removed… and then got his bound wrists wedged on the vat, that man did not have William's scar – I'm sure of it."

"Brilliant doctor," George declared. "I hadn't noticed," he added.

They watched the film. It was so much easier to do so knowing that it wasn't William, that it wasn't Detective Murdoch, who was being killed. When the film began George said, "See Detective Murdoch's shirt buttons, undone down to the third one?"

They nodded. _That would be the kidnappers' mistake, there would be a different number of undone buttons later…_

"You'll see. It's not as many undone when he gets shot," George went on. He stopped the projector as the masked man walked in front of the camera – seemingly out of view, after putting the hood on the detective, to go get the gun.

The three of them staring at the still, silent, screen, they all saw it. The entire screen was just a blurry dark image – the masked man's shirt, so close up it was little more than black.

George said, "You see here, they could have cut the film. And then they would start filming the next part – after they put a different man in the chair next to Pendrick, they would just have to have the masked man wearing the same shirt… really everything else would need to be the same to be convincing… and they start the camera with the masked man standing in front of the camera again, but he then walks into view with the gun and shoots this _different_ man in the head."

George flicked the projector back into motion, everyone on the edge of their seat, watching for the tricks. From the blackness, the masked man moves away from the front of the camera, aims the gun at the hooded man's head… Julia counted the buttons that were opened. " _Only two! Only two! It wasn't him!"_ she trumpeted the joy in her mind. But it still could be William… just a cut of the film and a change for some reason or another, not necessarily a change to someone else. She wondered, so certain she had been right, " _Would they see that this hooded man lacked the scar?"_

Only the sound of the projector turning, the bullet is fired… the blood splattering, the bullet through, exiting, landing in Pendrick's shoulder… All too fast for the eye to really decipher – still breathtakingly disturbing. Then Pendrick's chair crashes to the floor, making no sound as they watched the film reel play out on the screen. It so obvious now that Pendrick, too, had not expected what had happened to happen. And they remembered what would come when the masked man eventually removed Pendrick's hood. How pale and sick he had looked, and he then threw-up. Pendrick obviously _believed it was William_ who had been killed right next to him. Somehow, the kidnappers tricked him too.

The film moved from another blocked view to resume with the masked man carrying out the envelope, then reaching the point when the murdered man's hands got pulled forward on his lap to have the wedding band removed and put in the envelope. **It was clear! It was definite! There was NOT a scar on his forearm**. Relief, proof, sank into each of them, making every inch of their bodies feel heavy, dense, with exhaustion, as they no longer fought to hold themselves up against the fear, the denial. They all knew in their hearts, that the man who got shot in the film – and _someone_ definitely did get shot and killed – that man was **NOT** Detective William Murdoch.

The Inspector said it simply, "You were right doctor. Murdoch's alive… At least, err, he was when they made this film."

The film had advanced to the point where the white sheet in the background had been pulled away to reveal the gigantic steaming vat. Julia pointed out the steam rising from it. "It's not acid, like I had thought. Acid wouldn't make steam…"

The Inspector responded, "Meyers thought it would be Polonium…"

"No. No," Julia said assertively. "It's candy. Trust me. It's going to be a candy factory, Inspector… William had a sweet smell on him the night he was fist abducted. And I think it's probably a place where they make hard candy – in a vat like that. Hard candy requires the highest temperatures. The vat…"

"We need to get a picture of that vat," George declared, stopping the film… rewinding it back to catch a point with the whole, humungous vat in view – without the body being heaved into it yet.

"Get to it, Crabtree," the Inspector ordered, agreeing with the plan. They would take the photo of the vat to candy makers, ask where such a vat was located. "I need all available constables on this," he added, heading for the door. They were motivated, charged, ready to get back into the fight. Murdoch could be saved, and they had to save him quickly, before time ran out.

Julia and the Inspector stayed back, did the research, found every possible location that might have such a vat. They considered places that had gone out of business, places that had not yet opened… Every place that could possibly make candy, any kind of candy, chocolates, truffles, but especially hard candies. The list grew. Constables checked each place, called in to get the next place on the list. No luck yet…

Mid-morning, Terrence Meyers came back with his bad news. Once again his men had failed to find the hideout being used by the kidnappers. The deadline for Pendrick's death was noon. Meyers looked sick with dread. The Inspector and Dr. Ogden told him their good news, and the three of them speculated that, perhaps, the kidnappers would have no intention of actually killing James Pendrick either.

Meyers was explaining how terribly wrong everything had gone last night, the spies flying over the location they had lied about as being where the airbase was in the newspaper, and then dropping a bomb of some sort down on it using a sort of parachute contraption. "It didn't explode. We have it. My men are testing it now to see if it has Polonium…"

 _Julia was about to point out that Pendrick had invented such a thing, and William had helped him with it…_

A knock at the Inspector's door.

"What is it Jenkins?" the Inspector asked.

The sole remaining constable in the stationhouse, from working the phones at the front desk, replied, "Sir, uh… Dr. Ogden received a message… From her housekeeper, Err, uh…" The young constable looked to the doctor, telling, "She said she remembered something. Um, that _caramel_ takes the most heat to make… and there's a German hard caramel candy called _Werther's_ , mam… doctor…" The man nodded, waited, hoping his message would break the case – praying it would be the clue to finding and saving the detective.

Julia's instincts screamed at her – _"This is it! This is it!"_

Just then, the Inspector's phone rang.

It was George. He was so excited he could hardly speak. The Inspector's face gave it away. **They had it!** "Patterson's," he said aloud, nodding his head, already standing. "Corner of Queen and Massey… Got it. Crabtree. You wait! You hear me! Wait for us!" the Inspector threatened the constable. He knew the temptation to rush in… _He knew every second counted_. But if Crabtree went in alone, he would probably just end up dead, and tip the captors off to the fact that the Constabulary was coming in the process.

The Inspector was putting on his jacket now, phone cupped between his chin and shoulder. Julia was up, excited, ready, as well. Meyers too. "Say it Crabtree. Say it. Promise me you'll wait… Good. We're on our way. Make sure you stay out of sight." He hung up the phone.

"Jenkins, get the word out. Gather the men at Patterson's Candy Factory. Corner of Queen and Massey. Make sure they know to wait till I give the word to go in. You and me…" Inspector Brackenreid said to Meyers, then glanced to Dr. Ogden, knowing instantly that the woman would not be talked out of coming with them. "And the doctor… We need to break out the armory…" the Inspector gave the battle call.

~) (~

Deep inside Stalag 13, Colonel Klink's men prepared for the making of their third film – this one would actually be of the killing of one of the hostages, the Canadian entrepreneur. The ruthless Colonel wanted him to die, to have "those Canadian swine" suffer stinging pain for defying him. As they had faked the killing of the Canadian detective in the previous filming, there was only one chair in front of the white sheet this time. Dr. Klemper would be coming to administer the drug to the hostage soon. Before that, the doctor had been ordered to give the truth serum, once more, to the detective. For now, Klink's men bound the hooded hostage to the chair, readied the camera, and readied the gun Schultz would use to kill Pendrick. Their nerves were on edge, for their Colonel was out for blood, furious that the Canadians had not given up their secret airbase… and experience told, Colonel Wilhelm Klink would be willing to take his own men's lives when in such a mood… it seemed he wouldn't even need a reason.

In Colonel Klink's office, Sargent Schultz dressed for the filming as his Colonel yelled at him.

"And don't get him stuck on the Verther's vat zis time, you dummkopf!" he barked.

"Yes, Herr Colonel," Schultz replied. He was struggling. This stupid shirt had always been too tight, and his fat, sticky skin was so clammy. _He hated killing people…_ _And it was so HOT!_

Klink went on, checking that his orders had been properly carried out. "Dr. Klemper is preparing ze Canadian detective for ze airplane?" he asked.

"Yes, Herr Colonel," Schultz replied, "Ze doctor vill give him extra truth serum as you ordered… so he vill be unable to lie to ze pilot. And he vill be submissive…"

Klink clamped his monocle tightly with his eye. "Beulich vill make him submissive. Ve have vays. Ve have vays," he said, his tone do dastardly, even Schultz felt his hair crawl. "Ze men are preparing ze Verther's vat for ze film?" he asked.

"Yes, Herr Colonel," Schultz attempted to jump to attention, popping a button on the already soaking wet shirt.

Walloping his fat, stupid, Sargent in the head, Klink yelled, "Dummkopf!" preparing to go into a tirade about how, now, the films would not be consistent with each other, but then he remembered that this third film did not have to be a fake continuation of the previous film, as they had just done with the film about faking the killing of the Canadians' beloved Detective Murdoch.

Colonel Klink's phone rang. He received word that the plane had arrived. _The pilot, Beulich, would be landing in the field behind the factory. It would be the first time he did so with one of the big planes, but it was worth the risk. The big plane was armed with the parachute bomb-deploying device. Colonel Klink would not only find the Canadian airbase – he would bomb it to smithereens._ That would get that swine, Meyers, where it hurt.

Tying his mask into place, Schultz's overheated, red face had gone pale with disgust and trepidation. Try as he might, he still kept seeing the poor, innocent, man they had found at the docks – the man who had the muscular build required to look like the well-built detective… well, at least once the sailor's ugly face was hidden under a hood and he was in the detective's suit. Sargent Schultz was repeatedly haunted by the sight of the man's hands getting stuck on the bolt of the vat, his dead body bobbing up and down, undulating, as the bubbling and gurgling of the gooey liquid in the vat tried again and again to engulf him. His head yelled it at him, " _Poor sailor-man, he knew NOTHING! NOTHING! Poor sod just took some money, ended up chloroformed, and then shot in the head and hardened into some caramel coffin_." Never again would Sargent Schultz be able to eat the Verther's candies he had so loved before all of this, never again.

"Check on Dr. Klemper on your way," Klink demanded, "And send the pilot to me for instructions."

William felt more alert than he had for days… " _Was it days?"_ he asked himself, so unsure. He had heard them come for Pendrick. _He would be next!_ He felt the surge of panic once more. _Hadn't he made a weapon… out of a spring from the mattress? Everything was so foggy. "Where did you hide it?"_ he wondered.

 _Terror struck – the key in the door…_

William jumped to his knees, frantically searching under the bed for his makeshift weapon…

Dr. Klemper's voice, _instantly nauseating William down to his very core_ , the vile man mocked, "Detective Murdoch, you fool, you vill not find ze sharp mattress spring you made into ze little knife. Don't you remember? You told us about it vhen ve last… talked." _Such an evil laugh_. "You alvays tell us about your secret plans to escape, don't you detective?" the aversive voiced seethed with the man's sense of superiority, with his glee in his powerful cruelty. The doctor held up the syringe of scopolamine. "It is time ve had a little talk again detective…"

The other man with the doctor… a new man, William had not seen him before, he was big, and he smelled of gasoline… this other man grabbed at William's wrists. _He had ties!_

"We're going for a little ride in ze plane detective," the pilot said through his grunts as William struggled.

 _Quickly losing the skirmish, weak somehow, William knew he had best take up the fight,_ now, _to keep his hat. He wedged it firmly down onto his head, his last action before his wrists were bound together. Only then did he realize that he was wearing nothing more than his underwear. Not even an undershirt… It seemed so odd. And he was thirsty, terribly, terribly thirsty_.

"Can I have some water? Water, please," William pleaded, trying to stave off the administration of the drug.

At that moment, Colonel Klink stepped to the dingy, reeking, little dungeon room's door. "He vants vater. He vill get vater alright, after he finds us ze airbase! Beulich…"

"Herr Colonel," the big man immediately showed his deference.

A nasty smile took the Colonel's monocled face, "Push him overboard into ze Ontario Lake, after you drop ze bomb," Klink goaded.

William heard it, heard his plight, before the needle went in, _before the cloudiness, and the dullness, and the loss of any boundaries slipped in from the edges of his world. He had meant to fight, to jerk his hands free of the ties that were binding him,_ _to kick, to punch,_ _but, now there was only weakness._ _Julia_ _, his thoughts turned to the pleasant in the world._ _Julia is so beautiful…_

"Is my wife coming?" the detective asked, sounding like a drunk, "I love my wife. I love to kiss her, and to take her clothes off, and I like to feel her jiggly, creamy, breasts under my fingers…"

Dr. Klemper looked to Colonel Klink. "He is ready vhenever you are, Herr Colonel," the doctor said, recognizing the signs of a complete loss of self-control in the Canadian detective.

"Beulich, make sure he has his hat vhen he goes for his swim," Wilhelm Klink chuckled at his own wit as he walked away, leaving the detective to his fate.

) (

Julia said the name, "Werther's."

Crabtree agreed, "Yes. That's it, doctor. The building they rent is in the back. We can get to it either through the back – there's nothing but a large field back there. Patterson is planning on expanding in the future – wanted the space. But, there is only one very small door there. If we go through here… through this door, there are two separate entrances. Maybe we should split up, send men to each door?" he suggested, looking to the Inspector, suddenly worrying he had overstepped his bounds.

Too much at stake to put Crabtree in his place, Brackenreid went about laying out the plan to get in undetected, at least up until the last possible moment. There were eight constables. Two would go to the back door and infiltrate as clandestinely as possible, the rest would go with him through these two closer doors. According to Crabtree, Patterson had said one of the doors was warehouse-sized, but it had a little, normal-sized door built into it. They would sneak two constables in through the smaller doors in the front. The plan was that these first men would knock unconscious any of the enemy spies on watch, hoping to go otherwise noticed. Then these first constables would open the large door from the inside. The Constabulary would barrel through it, armed to the teeth, rifles drawn. At that same moment the two other constables who had been sent around to the back door would come in – armed and ready, thus surrounding the enemy.

Brackenreid brought his eyes to meet those of Terrence Meyers. He would do the man the courtesy, ask his opinion of the plan. Meyers complimented Crabtree on his staking out of the building they were about to sneak into. "There's no knowing how many men they have in there," Meyers coached, "So we have to be ready to face an army. We have the element of surprise. Let's use it to our advantage. Crabtree," he verified, "How long, based on the plans Patterson showed you of the layout in there, how long for the two men at the back to get close to the central area – where we believe the big candy cooking vat is located?"

Crabtree felt a huge weight on him. People, good people, were risking their lives here. "Considering they may have to knock out a guard and anybody else they encounter on the way that would give us away… well, I'd say five minutes. I volunteer to be one of them, sir," Crabtree said, turning to the Inspector. George Crabtree loved Detective Murdoch, everyone knew this. He would be the one to take the biggest risk. Higgins volunteered next.

The Inspector looked to Dr. Ogden. There was doubt on his face.

"Oh no. No you don't, Inspector," Julia sternly insisted. She snatched a rifle from the constable next to her. He had been holding the rest of the armory, about four extra rifles.

 _There was a flash in her mind, of being on the island for Lavinda's hen party, and some monster being out in the woods killing everyone, and then it turned out to be Rose…_

"I knew how to shoot a rifle way before I even met Detective William Murdoch, and I will not be told to stay out here when my husband is in there, and I know he needs me. Don't you dare try to stop me," she steamed.

Terrence Meyers took up her cause, though everyone watching well knew the Inspector was about to fold anyway.

"I'll stay with her," he offered. Meyers turned to the doctor. "I owe you," he said with a slight nod, a bow. Enough said.

Knowing the Murdoch and Pendrick could be taking their last breaths at this very moment, the plan was set immediately into motion.

 _The heat of the place already sufficed to break them all into a sweat, though nerves could be enhancing its effect. Never before had Julia heard, felt, each breath in and out of her lungs as if it might be her last. Even when she had been buried alive by James Gillies, her mind had played more, been distracted with, her terror than with a goal of stealth, the needed silence defied each time she took an essential breath. Never before had she felt so alive, so precariously tight-roping along the pivotal edge between life and death, yet also having a profound awareness of the importance of it all as she did so. Yet, there was a momentary buckling, just after the two constables in front of them had clandestinely picked the locks at the door factory doors, stepped away, out of sight… Julia's thoughts going to their three little children, and in so doing, she had a dreadful pang of regret, doubt, that she was doing the right thing._

"Stay behind me," Meyers whispered back to her…

 _ **SSslli**_ _ **iidde –**_ _ **Slam!**_

The huge door at the front of Stalag 13 slid opened loudly on its tracks up by the ceiling, startling, pumping adrenalin through the blood-streams of every human in earshot. All around, a symphony of calls, loud, authoritarian demands, rang out, "Toronto Constabulary! You're under arrest!" overwhelming the unprepared enemy spies. An instant splattering of chaos ensued. Mostly running, retreating, zigging and zagging, some ducking for cover, some reaching for a weapon. It was likely this last action that drew the Constabulary's gunfire, and it firecrackered throughout the building, from the back, from the front, seemingly from everywhere, it popped and pounded. In the end, no one killed in that first initial round. There were however, multiple injuries. It took less than a minute. The Constabulary had the upper hand. There were captives, men with their hands held up in the air, some of them little more than candy factory workers keeping the secret for their native Germany, others actual assassins for the German spy network. There were men who escaped, some who were still hiding and would be found.

 _Julia Ogden…_ Meyers panicked, called it out. Dr. Ogden was nowhere in sight.

"How'd you lose her, Meyers?" the Inspector hollered. No time, however, emergency everywhere around them right now.

They untied Pendrick. He was alive. He was unharmed, at least physically.

The masked man, the Inspector, George and Meters recognized him even without the mask, now the tables turned, found himself wounded and handcuffed. He repeated over and over, "I know NOTHING! HOTHING!"

"Detective Murdoch?" Brackenreid asked the men within his proximity.

All shook their heads.

"Fan out! Find him!" Inspector Brackenreid's orders flared, "The doctor too."

She found the tiny cell, small, disgusting, filthy, _just an overfull bucket in the corner and a tiny mattress on the floor_ , Julia had found William's room. His prison door had been left wide opened, its thick metal, like a bank-safe, suggesting the value of the captive held inside, and the fear of the abilities of that prisoner to escape. The room was empty.

Yet, she stood, stunned, _so beautiful, so sad, somehow_ , she stood staring at what he had done, on the wall, with the secret weapons he had planned, over and over again, to use to escape, always being found out because he would tell his captors when under the influence of the truth serum. Life-sized, magnificent before her in the windowless room, so that he would _not_ have known if it were day or night, would _not_ have been able to count the days, William Henry Murdoch had drawn his relief on the wall, and spilled it up onto the ceiling.

He had used at first a nail pulled from the floor as his paintbrush, and later a mattress spring, and even at one point his badge which his abductors had forgotten to take back after filming him, him stealing it away in his underwear to go unnoticed, until the next time they put him under, and he gave away his own secrets. William Henry Murdoch had drawn _**the tree**_ – the tree in the park, that overlooked where he had first kissed her on the picnic blanket… and where he had watched her the night he had been most forlorn from having lost her to her marriage to Darcy, him having had watched them from atop the tree when she had so desired to see the magical picnic spot, and she had walked with Darcy to it, on that Christmas day. And William had watched from up in the tree, as she paused, and in watching her from his perch, William discovered that she remembered their first kiss too with her pause at the special spot. And he knew then that she loved him, and that she regretted her choice to marry Darcy, and his heart broke for them both as he watched from _**the tree**_.

From up there, the world so perfect – for he had gotten her back, as the gypsy Tarot Card reader had foretold, and it had been with great sacrifice as Lady Minerva had predicted. And then, he had shared it with her, took her climbing with their baby son, brought her to see, to be with him in the spot where he had admitted to the Universe that he had found his one true love, even before he had kissed her, before anyone _(except possibly Constable Higgins)_ knew of his remarkable feelings for her. William had sketched, scraped, scratched into this wall, and even up onto this ceiling, he had carved into the wood of his dungeon, as he had done over a decade ago into the bark of the tree, his deepest truth. Now, there before her, for the second time in her life, she saw his proclamation of his love for her. William's arborglyph, so simple, just their initials joined with an addition sign, bound together permanently for the world to see, William had drawn, here in this awful place, a life-sized sketch of _**the tree**_ , perfect, the bark, the branches, the leaves, so beautiful and cared for, the leaves, each one, loved. And there on the tree trunk,

 _ **J O**_

 _ **WM**_

But now there was more to it than there had been before, for he had drawn-in the branches they had stood on, down by the floor, and he had drawn-in the branches above his love-carving… So many leaves, so perfectly done each one of them, as they protected the message… And on the three branches above his love declaration, William's longed-for union, each branch held a name peeking out through the leaves – _William Jr._ carved on the first branch, and _Katie_ on the next one, little _Chelsea's name_ was carved into the highest branch, curving up onto the ceiling. Julia's eyes had filled with tears with the sight of it. For, in what he would have thought were his final days… to never see them again… constantly drugged, and helpless, and _oh so alone_ , William had made this soothing, meaningful, drawing… of his life.

She swallowed back the tears… tightened the grip on her rifle. She would find him. She would bring this astounding man home.

Higgins had an idea. "George, remember…" he started, "There was a plane… uh, a really big one, sirs," he glanced between the Inspector and Mr. Meyers, "in the back, um in the field, but pretty close to the building…"

George worried, "They might use it to escape… to take Detective Murdoch somewhere else. Still keep him…" Already turning, heartened by the others taking heed as well, he urged, "The engine had been left running…" letting them know of the need for haste. They rushed through the winding twists and turns at the back of the factory. They all heard it – the plane engine revving up, surging. They were going to be too late…

Julia had a feeling, an instinct, that whoever was in charge of all this evilness… he would have been alerted when the Constabulary charged in. The villain would have fled, left his men to fight the battle. There was an arrogance, she was sure of it, in some of the ruthless things she had known this man to do… to her husband, leaving him naked, drugged, drained of blood, presumably solely to ensure no one found out about his diabolical truth serum. And the shooting of the men who had already given up to him, helpless, no longer a threat. And those horrendous films… And this horrible man still had William. And if they got away, from here, if they got away now, she might lose William forever. And so, she looked for where this monster would have gone to escape.

The back door was opened. Fast, faster than her legs could carry her, unconcerned for bullets that might be fired her way, she ran for that opened back door. Out. Left, right.

 _Oh, that was it_ – time seemed to freeze as fate tugged at her soul.

 _That was it._

A plane.

 _Air_.

 _William would be in the plane_.

Then she saw it, the proof, William Murdoch's calling card –

A homburg on the ground, next to the door of the plane.

So strange, tingling, the feeling, being stuck there in that singular moment between fate and choice. She knew she was meant to go. But she could choose not to. She could choose to stay here on the ground, choose to let William go, to not risk her own death, to not risk orphaning their children. She did not have to take the path laid out before her. The question, a burning curiosity, teased, " _But how did they know?"_

And with that question, she made her choice, based on an illogical kind of reasoning – Julia bolted forward for the plane, passed a man, a big man, distracted by running a long hose to the plane… _Gas, putting in gas_ …

She ran out into the broad daylight, risking being spotted, being shot down. She _chose_ to go to that plane, the plane that she already knew would take them up into the air, up there where she was certain William's life would be put in grave danger. Julia chose to run to save him. And she did so because she discovered that she trusted them, even though it did not make any sense.

Julia trusted the gypsy fortuneteller, and the astrology birth-chart reader. But ironically, _**the one**_ who ultimately had put her legs into motion… _so ridiculous in a way, so unbelievable, that Julia was sure she would never be able to even speak of it_. The thought that had spurred her forward was that _**she trusted William**_ , for it was _William_ who had _seen_ the future, the future in which he – and she – had a son, an eight-year old son, in the year 1912, when he had gone to "the future" in Dr. Harm's Time Machine. And even though it was impossible that there was a connection, William Jr. would be eight-years-old in four more years. And that meant William was supposed to be alive then, and so she ran into the danger. Blood pumping, heart pounding, legs flying, arms thrusting, she ran to him, remembering that she had gotten him an Anniversary present, because she had promised him all those years ago, that he would get to Alberta to hunt for fossils, and he had told her, that back then he had _seen_ it as well, William had seen that _they were together_ when he went to find his dinosaur bones, and then too, they would have a son.

And so Julia ran to him because s _he trusted_ _William_ , on some astral plane that would never be reasonable, would never make any sense, yet her intuition told her it was the right way to go… and already, she was gone, off to encounter the astral plane.

 _)) ((_


	16. 16: Saving Him from Air

Back to the Drawing Board_16_Saving Him from Air

) (

Thinking snidely to himself, as he sat back down in front of his breezy fan in his steaming hot Stalag 13 office, about how attached the strange Canadian detective was to both his odd little hat and his sexy doctor wife, and that now, thanks to him, at least the man would be able to die with _one_ of those things, Colonel Wilhelm Klink reran his plans to destroy both the secret Canadian airbase and his rival spy's – that _plain, unimpressive Terrence Meyers' –_ resolve _._ At this very moment, his second in command, _unfortunately another bungling incompetent_ , Sargent Schultz, was in the process of filming the killing of the Canadian entrepreneur. Meyers will be devastated upon seeing that _**both**_ of his spies have died due to his ineptitude and stubbornness in not revealing to **him – an obviously much more superior spy** – the whereabouts of his secret airbase. And, in the end, he would find the enemy airbase anyway, for his best man, Beulich was taking off – with the bomb ready to be deployed in the belly of the secret airplane – with the detective – who the incompetent Canadians have been led to believe is already dead – to find and destroy the secr…

 _ **Bang! Ratt-tatt-tatt – pop… pop… pop**_! Startled to the point of jumping, the barrage of gunfire alerted Klink to the Constabulary's invasion. " _Blast!_ " his brain yelled at him. Klink's mind split in all directions, his hopes, his fears, all fireworking across his neurons. _Perhaps Pendrick has already been sho_ t… _Maybe I can still catch Beulich – escape in the plane… Still find, still blow up, the enemy airbase!_

Gun drawn, Colonel Klink ducked low and snuck towards the back door of the candy factory. A sudden dive to floor – _constables running by…_

Voices, full of power and commanding, rifled through the air, seemingly from all directions… "Find Pendrick. Find Murdoch…"

"And Dr. Ogden!"

"Pendrick's here! He's alive! Need help over here. Constable shot!" then an exchange of more gunshots...

)

The bright sunlight was blinding as she flew out the back door of the German candy factory spy prison. Checking all directions – _find the monster_ , her heart pounded in her chest – _save William_ … blaring, was the demanding surge of her every sense. Amazed, such that she gasped upon seeing it there, on the ground… his homburg… and their destiny tugged at her soul.

 _The bone-rumbling sound, the eye-stinging smell of gasoline, all from the plane's whirring engines…_

 _A man there, just his feet, she could see them, from underneath. He was on the other side of the plane. A hose – he's pumping gas into the plane…_

 _Julia was running, holding her skirts high in one hand, rifle in the other, running with all her might past it all – like a dream – somewhere else –blurry – so fast, and yet freezing, still and solid, in time… sprinting to his hat, to him, into the danger, wholly, to save him._

There was a door to the plane. She saw the handle. She was under the huge wing now. She picked up his hat, still bending low, expecting the monster. Julia readied the rifle.

Silent, stealth the goal, she popped the door handle, and the door opened an inch. _William's bare-feet?_ The barrel end of the rifle in, as the door swung wide, pointing across her husband's chest. She would aim it at the monster…

 _Only William alone. ALIVE! Alone! He was almost naked, filthy, rugged, wearing only his underwear. Hands bound in his lap. Tied to the seat. Dopey… she thought as she observed that he was oddly relaxed in his mannerisms – drugged…_

"William," her voice full of emotion in its whisper, so relieved that he was alive she became dizzy.

"Je- Je – Jew – ya! My hat!" he smiled and slurred with childlike surprise.

She rushed to get in, to hide, crawling over him, straddling his lap.

"Shh, William," she tried to quiet him down. Her mind advised her, " _Put his hat on him,_ " to keep him calm.

She closed the door, placed the rifle down on the empty pilot's seat. _**Safe for now.**_

Her eyes filled with tears, her fingers had to touch, to prove to herself it was true, he was truly right _here_ , alive, safe. "I was so scared, William," she told with the thickness of tears beginning to pool in her eyes, and she noticed the prickles of his unshaven, bristly, jawbone under her caress. Irresistible, never an inkling not to do so, she kissed him, sitting there on top of him, her skirt riding up over her thighs. Their breathing, the depth of the kiss, the way their bodies slowly moved against each other, all lighting their fire. He was stubbly, noticeably stinky, and in all her life she had never felt such a spin of joy.

Her brain called at her heart – _**danger! hurry!**_ And she broke off the kiss. Beautiful, enticing, the way William leaned, stretched to her, wanting more.

She worked to untie his hands. "We have to get out of here," she explained in whispers.

He looked at her, _so funny – lustful?_ Suddenly, his hands were free and immediately his fingers pinched a lock of her hair, cupped and cherished her face, and he stretched up to kiss her.

"William! Stop this foolishness! We have to get out of here," she ordered, pushing back against his naked chest. _The words had not even breached her lips when she remembered Lady Minerva turning the Fool Card, it landing, covering the self-disciplined Chariot Card… And then Madam Celeste's ominous voice in her head – "For my prediction, I lay down here in front of many eyes, that Julia Ogden will save this man, her one and only, predestined lover, William Murdoch, one more time before their lives are through. And she will save him from Air, and bring him to rest safely once more on the one thing her Moon has in abundance – Earth…" And terror and urgency ran through her as she recognized the challenge. With a cold chill, she argued with herself. Perhaps she could still sway the future, get him out of this airplane – save him before it takes off…_

"We can be quick," his voice raspy, aroused, he said as he began unbuttoning her blouse. William's eyes grew dark and wide as the view of her cleavage stole his breath away. Tucked in between her creamy, luscious breasts, there was a necklace – _the pendant!_ So romantic, symbolic, powerful, the pendant from so many, many years ago, the one inside of which she had placed their two pictures, locked forever in a kiss, an eternal embrace. She had not worn in since she feared she had lost him on his trip to Winnipeg, and before that, only the night it clicked and stuck, magnetically, to his badge, a premonition to their being meant to be together, and she left him for Buffalo despite the universe's hint. He recognized the luminous, golden metal of his wedding band resting against the pendant. _He had lost it_ , he remembered now. _My God_ , he had to get his mouth on this magnificent woman, her fleshy, delicious body. Desperate, the urge. "I love you so much Juwya…"

)

From his vantage point, dropped down on the floor next to one of the big candy-making machines, Klink spied the last corridor he needed to slink through to get to the back door. No Constabulary voices from that direction, he decided to bolt the remaining distance to the emergency escape. He could hear the plane engine idling… _he was not too late!_

)

"I know NOTHING! NOTHING!" the fat, now unmasked, man insisted, as he dropped his 9mm gun and raised his hands up in the air. Two different blood-soaked areas of his torso revealed to all that he had been shot. The steaming, gurgling vat of melted caramel candy mixture lingered in the backdrop, reminding of Pendrick's intended fate.

"Pendrick's here! He's alive!" the constable's call rang out through the _Werther's Hard Caramels_ section of the Patterson candy factory.

James Pendrick, himself also drugged for the planned filming and murder, was bound to a chair. His hood just removed, he tried desperately to grasp the situation around him.

There was a call from off in the distance, "Need help over here. Constable shot!" followed by an exchange of more gunfire.

Quickly, the Inspector and Mr. Meyers appeared in front of Pendrick. A constable was undoing the ropes that bound him to the chair. "They shot Murdoch," he blurted out.

 _On some level, Brackenreid advised himself that Pendrick was also under the influence of the hypnotic truth drug, but he noticed that Pendrick did not seem to be as wholeheartedly affected by the German spy drug as had Murdoch, thinking back to that first time the detective had been abducted, left naked, drugged and drained of blood in his home so many months ago._ He reassured Pendrick, "No. No, they faked his death. Murdoch is alive…" And as he said it, the Inspector felt a pang of dread, for if Pendrick did _not_ know Murdoch was alive, then maybe they would not have gotten there in time, and, even if Murdoch was still alive, Pendrick would be of no help in finding him.

Slurring his words a bit, Pendrick asked, "Wha..a's this all… bout, Thomas – I'm cert…" his eyes wide and a little crossed as he tried to focus on Brackenreid's face, "They were about… killing me…"

The Inspector told, "James, the German spies, they wanted to know the location of some bloody, made-up, Canadian airbase. They sent these films, used Murdoch as ransom… You were to be next."

"Yes," Pendrick said, reaching up to rub his shoulder, instinctively protecting the spot where the bullet had gone through _Murdoch'_ s head and then into him, the wound aching with the memory coming back to him, "They used a… a drug to get us to talk. I think I know why they didn't really kill Murdoch… then. They want _**Murdoch**_ to **take** them to the airbase."

Terrence Meyers jumped in, "No! That's impossible – There is NO Airbase."

Pendrick's eyes pleaded, for there was hope now that Murdoch could be saved. "There is! There is! I've seen it! Murdoch saw it too – with me!"

Higgins had an idea. "George, remember…" he started, "There was a plane… uh, a really big one, sirs," he glanced between the Inspector and Mr. Meyers.

George worried, "They might use it to escape… to take Detective Murdoch." Already turning, heartened by the others taking heed as well, he urged, "The engine had been left running…" letting them know of the need for haste.

)

Julia heard noises, voices – yelling, behind the plane. She pushed harder against William, praying he would stop trying to kiss her. "William," her tone stressed, she asked, "Can you fly this thing?"

He reached over and tapped on one of the many dials and gauges. His speech was slow, slurred, "Not a good idea," he made himself dizzier as he shook his head for emphasis, "Almost out of gas," and then he went back to fondling her, nuzzling his face in her neck. _She smelled so good..._

Her brain offered up the solution. The man outside – she remembered it. He was pumping gas into the plane. Julia shoved even harder against her husband, began her move to crawl behind his seat. She needed to untie him. "There's probably enough gas to get away," she replied.

Instantly pumping her with fear, so close now, the German yelling! Her heart panicked. _There would not be time!_

Suddenly – it was just opened – the strange-looking man at the door. _Something not right about his eyes._ " _ **The rifle**_ **!** " Julia's head screamed.

She grabbed for the rifle, drawing Klink's attention to it lying on the seat. There was another man, loud, from behind the plane – approaching, closer and closer. Soon there would be two of them to fight off. The scuffle over the rifle was raging, but brief. Colonel Klink butted Julia in the side of the head – HARD – with the shoulder end of the rifle.

Julia fell back, to the floor behind his seat. _She wasn't moving!_ Still bound to the seat, William flared with fury! He grabbed hold of the rifle, shook it violently. It fired! The rifle fired out of the opened door, the bullet passing under Klink's arm, his monocle flying, tinkling, as it bounced about to the floor of the plane. The blast of the shot sent the second man retreating. William let go of the rifle with his right hand… slammed the spy with his powerful right hook, sending the man flying to the pavement, the rifle skidding out of the Colonel's reach across the sunny ground in the process. William stretched in an effort to slam the door shut. Tied to the seat, he could not reach it. Instead, he considered the controls of the plane. He spotted the flight stick that would move it forward…

The sound of Klink's 1901, 9mm handgun cocking halted William mid-thought, _and_ _the drowsy, cloudiness seeped back into his awareness._ The fiend aimed his gun at Julia's head.

"I vill shoot your beautiful vife in ze head, detective. I suggest you cooperate," Klink said, "Ve have vays to make you give us vhat ve vant." He took his seat. Closed the door. Shoved the stick forward, and they were instantly in motion as the engines screamed to full throttle.

Completely helpless, William looked to the man's gun. He was stuck, accepting it. _He knew on some level that he should be plotting, planning a way to get the gun from the Colonel… to save Julia… but he was so weak… so out of it…_

The plane lifted into the sunlit sky. "You vent north from your house, yes detective?" Klink asked as he reached up to one of the tilters to turn the plane.

The question sucked William right back deeper into his trance-like, submissive state. He was putty once again. "Yes," he replied.

Northward travel well-established, the sun shining at their backs, Colonel Wilhelm Klink asked the drugged, nearly naked, Canadian detective, his tone dripping with malevolence, "Detective Murdoch, do you know how to svim?" Cruelly, he recognized the glazed look in the Canadian man's eyes, knew his victim was at his mercy.

Robotic in his answer, William replied, "Yes." _But he knew it somewhere far-off, that he was in danger, JULIA WAS IN DANGER._

A wicked smile on the Colonel's face, he sneered, "Good. Zen, as I had granted you vith our first encounter, you vill have a chance to survive zis time as vell… I suppose, as a Canadian, you like Lake Ontario?"

"Yes. It's lovely in the summer. Julll…llya and I… well we, um, we almost… um, one night, she thought it was something else brushing against her thigh, while we embraced and kissed, under the water…"

The impatient German spy interrupted the uncommonly chatty detective, especially once the man had been drugged with devil's breath and he had gotten onto the topic of having sexual encounters with his wife, "Good. Ontario it vill be zen, after ve find ze airbase. You vill have better odds zan ze little jockey man had. Ze golf-club lake vas too small. Not much chance of him surviving zat… but vater, she hits you like a vall at zat speed, no matter ze size of ze lake."

William waxed with the memories that played, "Ju… Juwya saved me… I … drowning… she… swam…" _William found himself mesmerized as he gazed down at Julia's motionless body, with the sight of such a remarkable woman as Julia… well Julia's legs anyway… lying unconscious – hurt – back there on the floor behind his seat. He had to help her. He dove and twisted towards her, discovering again, that he was tied to the seat._

Angrily, the handgun shook between her and him.

"Maybe you'll be lucky tvice zen," Klink smirked. "You have a phenomenal vife. I vill push her out ahead of you, detective… into ze Ontario Lake. Perhaps she vill rescue you again," he taunted, risking divulging his plan, for the detective was harmless in this state.

From her viewpoint, the world fuzzy, out of focus, sideways… _And there was such a loud noise,_ Julia was abruptly awake. Instincts froze her, hiding her consciousness from anyone who might see. _Orient yourself. Orient yourself_ came the command, breathless with fear and urgency. " _I'm in the plane – WILLIAM!"_ trumpeted the internal, agonous, scream. She remembered all of it. The German spy, the fight over the rifle. _William was tied up_ , she ran the memory, _he was drugged_. Her eyes focused on what she could see. _I'm on the floor of the plane. Must be behind William's seat._

William's voice spoke, _still misty in her brain_ , _or was it misty in reality_ , "We flew over that church."

 _The plane banked, solidifying her decision that they were in flight._

 _Oh, she recognized this set-up!_ Julia thought, as she studied the back of the plane and she remembered back to William's drawing board in his workroom, the night of their Anniversary Party, and she had seen Pendrick's shipping business cargo-drop plans all chalked out on the board, the two brilliant inventors working eagerly on it. It was right there before her now… _yes_ , the parachute up on the ceiling of the plane, under it a basket-like platform attached to the parachute, the cargo-holding device securely held within strong netting to keep the cargo in place as it plummeted down through the sky, and then landed down on the ground below. Beautifully, she remembered William's wonderful gifts, and the children so excited, as the bicycles and flowers and little toy rolling horse, and candies, floated, and drifted, so softly, so magically, down into their backyard. " _Summer Santa_ ," her awed inner-voice reminded.

" _There's something loaded on the platform there…_ _It has a clock – a timer – a BOMB!"_ her brain pumped with dread, analyzing the situation. Examining further, Julia saw there was a slit in the floor. " _Flaps that open_ ," she remembered the drawing board plans. " _Where's the handle?"_ she wondered. It was dawning on her, what the monster German villain planned to do… to drop this bomb on some unsuspecting location below.

Ever so cautiously, slowly, she turned her head to look back as much as possible towards the front of the plane. _"There it is!"_ she told herself, finding the handle that would open the floor boards, would release the secret weapon to rage havoc below, having had spotted the stick protruding up off of the floor between the two seats.

 _My God, it was just pure luck that she had not accidently pushed against it earlier, releasing the bomb when she had climbed back here to untie William, or when she had fought with the German spy over possession of the rifle, losing that fight to the man who she now knew had been their monster all along_. Julia took a deep breath, preparing her nerve. She slowly, slowly, moved an arm, brought her fingers to the knot in the ropes that bound William to the chair…

William betrayed her then, but it was not his fault. Under the influence of the truth serum William Murdoch was unable to deceive, so he reacted to the sensation of the ropes being pulled and jiggled from behind the seat. He turned and looked her way… destroyed any chance of her plan working, as he called out her name. So happy his expression, she heard it in his voice, "Jewlllya! You're awake!" he declared.

Tables turned for the briefest of moments, Colonel Klink quickly recovered. He reasoned that the wife was more of a threat than the detective. Thus, his gun shifted its aim, centering on the detective's handsome face. "Dr. Ogden, I vill shoot your husband if you do not put your hands up vhere I can see zem," the monster's sickly voice warned.

 _Recognizing the gun as a 9mm, Julia was sure it would match the bullet striations of at least one of the victims she had had in her morgue. She then remembered, sinking her heart with a mixture of terror and hopelessness, that the bullet holes in the victims' clothing had not lined up with the bullet wounds in their bodies – and she knew in that moment that this man would kill them anyway, after he had gotten what he wanted. She decided, there and then, that she would attack this vile man despite his holding a gun on William. Perhaps she could feign some reason to care for William, make an excuse to get closer to the bad-guy's gun… increase her odds for success…_

Stalling, distracting, her psychiatry training guiding her, figuring that such a man as this diabolical villain would have an enormous ego, Julia flattered him. "It seems you have the upper hand, um… Mr…"

"Colonel Klink," Klink said, "Colonel Vilhelm Klink."

"Herr Colonel… You certainly have a much better handle on things than our Mr. Meyers," she started.

"Your Terrence Meyers is a useless bungler, doctor," Klink said, _squeezing his eye for his monocle out of habit, subconsciously bothered by the fact that it was not there. A quick glance and he found his eyes stalled on the sexy woman's unbuttoned blouse._ Germany's top spy was willing to talk with his victims. They would be dead soon anyway. The detective had already mentioned recognizing a town down on the ground. Klink was confident they were getting close now.

"Your methods seem to be… very ingenious," Julia gave. "I have… Um, you do know I am a doctor, Colonel… not only of medicine, but also of psychiatry?" she asked.

"Yes. Quite amazing for a voman," Klink answered, deciding it would not be all that bad to return a compliment. "You studied in Vienna, vith the esteemed Sigmund Freud…

"I did," she replied. _She noticed, the captor snuck another glance at her breasts._

Feeling he would gain the upper hand, he would shame her, Klink slyly asked, "And did you receive his treatment for female hysteria – I hear it vas wery invigorating for ze voman… ze manipulation of ze genit…"

Battling against her anger with the indolent, petulant, little weasel, Julia's chin jutted into the air…

William noticed it. He felt his reaction to Julia's strength and fire immediately in his trousers. _My God she was an amazing woman…_

Her tone defiant, "No," she answered firmly, interrupting him, then she softened, not wanting to give the creep the pleasure of upsetting her, "I do not have any such frustrations…"

"I should think not, considering vhat your husband says about you… and your primal vays, doctor. I should not be surprised, a couple such as yourselves, attractive, smart, vibrant, hot-blooded specimens vould be quite passionate," he said, finding himself becoming… intrigued by this unique Canadian fräulein. Quickly he shoved the thought away, _perhaps he would not kill her…_

"Yes, um it is quite wonderful, _**with William**_ , anyway," she looked at her husband, his eyes darkened with sexual urges, and perhaps the drugs, William's eyes too mingled down on her cleavage _. He was a gorgeous man, that's for sure, if not currently feeble._ _Sensing that Klink was attracted to her, Julia thought she could use it to her advantage. Having had just tested her theory, Julia had seen that she was correct, she had observed it in the Colonel, in reaction to her complimenting and flirting with William – jealousy_. Her voice dropped a few octaves as she asked him, "Has my husband told you much in the way of details?" Julia started to lean, ever so slightly, towards William, closer to being able to surprise Colonel Klink and seize the gun.

"He has," the Colonel responded. _He felt the flame, very close, too close to the flame._ _Colonel Wilhelm Klink would not be tricked so easily._ He turned the conversation back to psychology. "As I said, Dr. Ogden, your husband has made it clear that you suffer no frustration in ze bedroom. Except, perhaps ze night I returned him to you." Klink felt a chill between them with the remark, was satisfied that he had backed her off.

 _Bad choice of words_ , Julia thought to herself after she had said them, "I've been dying to know, why leave William… naked? Why drain his blood?" she asked. She wanted to get the man talking, lower his guard.

 _Of course, the truth was that stripping someone down to their bare skin, leaving their most private parts dangling out for all the world to see, to judge, it made the victim feel even more vulnerable. Further, he had wanted to remove any traceable amounts of the devil's breath they had discovered as a truth serum from the detective's blood. But, Klink wanted to play with her_. he would tell her something other than the truth.

"I wanted to test his mettle," he replied, "To give him a sporting chance at surviving… I knew he had you at home, doctor." Klink giggled to himself, so proud of his superiority, not noticing Julia had managed to get herself between the gun and William. "You should have heard him going on and on at about vanting his hat… like a vining, runny-nosed little child. I decided to give him ze little token… He vas so persistently annoying about it…" Klink took a sideways glance at her.

" **Hands up, doctor!"** Klink hollered, his sudden threat startling her and William too.

She immediately distracted him from her intention, slowly yielding to his request, she lifted her hands higher.

Klink noticed, with her hands up, her breasts looked bigger, rounder, even more beautiful. He felt the swelling in his groin.

Julia enticed him with her curiosity, "And I have wondered, Colonel, was not _once_ sufficient… for you to test William's mettle. Could you not have left him, after that first time you had abducted him?" she asked.

Klink considered not telling her… but he was enjoying their little talk too much. He would shoot her soon enough… that is if she would not jump out of the plane, after the dropping of the bomb. Then he would push her husband out behind her. He had decided not to take the time to go to Lake Ontario, although it would make him more vulnerable to detection by that bumbling Meyers to do so, for the bodies would be much more likely to be found. No, her time, her husband's time, was not long for this world. _Why not tell her?_

"It seems Dr. Ogden, that your husband knows the location of something I vant wery much…"

"The Canadian airbase?" she guessed, interrupting.

"Yes," he replied.

In a wild rush, Julia screeched out her defense, as if there was a chance now that he would not try to kill them in the end, "Colonel, I swear to you, there is no such airbase. This has all been some figment…" _Careful not to insult his frail ego_ , she warned herself. "A false idea fed by a buildup of clues that all lead to nothing…"

"Dr. Ogden, you insult me. Your husband has told me he has seen ze airbase vith his own eyes. He is taking us to it right zis instant," Klink insisted. The Colonel slammed his hand down on the dashboard to accentuate his point.

Julia claimed, standing up to him with her assertion, "Meyers insists there is none!" Julia looked to William. He was gazing out the window. _He did seem to be looking for something specific down on the ground below…_

"Vhen your husband is under ze truth serum, he does not lie, doctor. He tells us about his secret veapons he has made and hidden in his tiny cell, he tells us all about you and your sexy vays, and he told us zat he saw it… Ze other Canadian man as vell, both Canadian captives telling ze exact same story – and ze airbase zey both described matches ze reports ve have gotten from zat little jockey man…"

"Schiergen?" she blurted out, incredulous… _Klink had killed him too! William was right all along!_ She marveled at the confounding proof of this villain's monstrous heinousness.

"Yes, that one. You vould know his fate intimately – as a pathologist?" _He was deciding whether or not to add that she and her husband were going to end up the same way as the despicable miniature traitor, organs displaced in their torsos, heart ruptured and severed, abdomens bloated with the massive internal bleeding of impacting the ground with such a phenomenal force._

William spotted an intersection of two of the Canadian National Railroad lines down below. "I remember those train tracks crossing like that," he said.

Colonel Klink exclaimed, "Vhere the north/south and east/west lines cross?!"

"Yes. It's up, over right… rightward… upward… upright…" William almost laughed at his own slurred word jumbling…

But without warning, gasping their hearts, the airplane sputtered, the loud flying suddenly becoming jerky and terrifying. Julia's eyes darted to the gas gauge that William had tapped on earlier. _It's empty! We're running out of gas!_ she abruptly… they all abruptly… understood.

As much to reassure herself as anyone else, Julia said, "Don't worry, when William flew Pendrick's Arrow – his first airplane – over Niagara Falls, they had also run out of gas…"

William added, amazing how calm he sounded with the truth serum in his bloodstream, "The plane had been shot…"

Julia nodded. _A part of her glanced clandestinely at Klink's gun, noting it was a bit lowered_. She swallowed, continued talking, "I believe the plane can glide a long distance, even without the engine, just the dynamics of the construction of the plane… and William still landed the plane." Yet, she worried, for William was fairly useless, and Klink still held the gun…

Acutely aware that he needed even more control of his two captives now that there was more danger, Klink raised his gun more pointedly at Detective Murdoch's head under the man's precious hat. Keeping the gun aimed squarely at her beloved husband would keep the bright, brave doctor under control. "How do ve keep ze plane up, detective?" he asked.

"Pull the stick towards you as hard as you can," William told, adrenalin improving his drunken speech, he replayed for himself the memory of Pendrick yelling the same instructions to him all those years ago.

Despite their hair-raising predicament, Julia felt a wave of relief. _We can land at the airbase. We should be close to it by now._ "Do you see the airbase? We can land there!" she exclaimed.

"No. Ve maintain altitude. I am dropping a bomb on ze enemy airbase for Germany. Detective, take the stick. I need to set ze timer on ze…"

Suddenly, at first merely unexpected blips ahead in the windshield, airplanes appeared in front of them.

William spoke first, starting to ask, _thinking back to the bird-strike he and Pendrick had experienced when they were testing the Goggle Earth photography and the cargo-drop design after having had dropped gifts for his family at his house, and William puzzled now, being certain that_ _ **those things he was seeing were too big to be birds,**_ "What are…"

A barrage of bullets pelted the windshield, sending everyone ducking for cover. William's homburg went flying. Unfortunately, Colonel Klink kept hold of the gun.

 _It made no sense! They were_ _ **not**_ _hit!_

The attacking planes went whizzing past them, no longer a threat.

 _How could it be?_ The windshield was scarred, but unbroken. _It was unbelievable_.

Klink reestablished control of the plane's flight stick, pulled back, leveling their flight once more. "Zey're defending ze airbase!" he yelled.

William recognized his invention, wondering aloud as his glazed eyes examined the whitish blemishes in the glass, "I had plans to make something like this…"

Repointing the gun back at William's head, Klink verified, "Yes, Detective Murdoch…" his speech was rushed with the danger. The base was in sight now. He would need to set the timer on the bomb in the back of the plane before he could release it on the airbase below. _He would never know why he was so motivated to tell these lowly Canadians that he had stolen the detective's plans, perhaps to revel in, even more, his, his magnificent Germany's… superiority, he supposed._ "Under ze truth serum ze first time ve abducted you. Ve believed you had ze formulas for ze radioactive substances, but you drew instead ze glass, ze glass zat vould withstand ze bullets…"

From behind their seats, _Julia worked up her courage, thinking that now, now that Klink was distracted, and he had been panicked by the attacking planes and by their running out of gas, now was as good a time as any_. Gaining the element of surprise, she grabbed for the gun. Both of them having a hand on it, Klink fired straight up, puncturing the ceiling of the plane. He hollered over the now whistling bullet-hole, the only sound in the windy silence of the hushed plane engine, "I vill not miss ze next one, Dr. Ogden. I have found ze airbase now. Your husband is no longer of any use to…"

Alarming them out of the blue, suddenly the attacking planes were by their side. They had circled back and now were alongside Colonel Klink's side of their airplane. No time to react, the attacking guns sounded once more, rat-a-tat-tatting though the airspace between them, 400 meters up in the sky. The windows on the sides of the airplane did not seem to be made with the bullet-resistant glass William had designed, for the window shattered into a million splashing pieces with the crash of the bullets.

Klink was hit, but not deterred. He aimed his pistol at the nearest pilot. Fired! Fired!

Recognizing that this was her chance, Klink's gun no longer aimed at William, Julia dove forward onto Colonel Klink. Their ensuing fight sent their bodies flinging forward into the flight stick, nosediving the plane.

William, still tied to the seat, barely reached, grabbed the flight stick as the plane started to drop.

Sticking to their prey, the attack planes dove as well, never losing sight of their quarry. Again, the rat-a-tat-tat of bullets splattered through the air.

Klink was hit!

Julia got the gun.

Klink was hit again, falling unconscious, forward into William's arm, into the flight stick, dropping the plane again.

"William!" Julia screamed out.

William, still tied down, threw Klink's limp body back and battled with the flailing machine…pulled the stick back with a grunt. _Brilliant_ , he thought to turn the plane away from the attackers. "Take the stick!" he yelled to her. Then he reached up as high as he could from his side of the plane, still tied down to his seat, and pulled the tilter, banking the plane, stealing it away from further gunfire.

Almost immediately after that, even though Julia's heart was pounding in her chest and the electricity of panic was still surging through her every cell, William Murdoch was calm. Keeping one hand on the tilter control, he reached over with his other hand, grabbed her around her waist and pulled her close. "We're alone now… don't have to worry about him seeing us," he said, leaning in for a kiss.

"William, honestly!" she resisted, utterly shocked by his reckless actions in their precarious predicament. _How fast her mind was moving… for she heard it in among all the other thoughts flying through her head. Lady Minerva had warned of this, foretold this, the Fool overpowering William's natural self-control. How could the gypsy woman have known he would be drugged? More importantly, what could Julia do to save them when he was like this?_

An idea popped back into her head – land at the airbase!

"William," Julia's voice was so stressed, and yet compassionate, as she pushed him away, and asked him, "Is that the airbase, those buildings below us there?" _She knew it as soon as she asked it, peeking for herself out the window. It was the airbase down there, and it was way too low below them for them to land there. They were flying directly over it. In mere seconds, it would be gone._

"Yes," he answered. Keeping the flight stick tugged tight, holding the plane at a relatively stable altitude, William used his free hand to undo one more button on her blouse, then cupped his hand in under her corset and around her hunky handful of a breast molding it and squishing her flesh, pressing her breast to the other, creating the most delicious cleavage. "Mm," he moaned, wishing, longing to taste, to feel her in his mouth.

"Can we land there?" she hurried to ask, grasping for a tiny hope, "Perhaps we can circle back…"

The steering stabilized, William let go of the tilter control and took the flight stick, managing to keep his attentions on Julia's sexiness. "Perhaps," he answered her nonchalantly, unconcerned, his voice muffled now that he had gotten his face in her cleavage.

However, now that he had the flight stick, she moved away, disappointing him. They would have to find another place to land.

"Julia," he complained.

She fumbled getting back behind his seat, hunting for the end of the knot to pull on to untie him. _Got it!_ William's ropes gave way.

All of a sudden, the attack planes were back, their gunfire announcing their return with a blast of internal terror. This time the attack seemed focused on the airplane itself. The sounds of the metal bullets ricocheting off of the metal plane tinked and plunked, seemingly everywhere around them.

 _ **Wham**_ , abruptly gravity shifted as the plane shot into a sharp turn.

"They hit a tilter!" William yelled out. So quickly, he figured out the tilter on his side was compromised. He knew how to level out the plane. William pointed to the other tilter. Julia pulled it as she had seen him do earlier, equalizing the downward trajectory of the two sides of the plane straightening its path. It was scary, for it was a _downward_ trajectory.

"William! They'll be coming back!" she screamed. William pulled her to him again, one hand on the flight stick, her with one hand holding the tilter down, he was now free of the ropes, and his body pressed seductively into hers, he nuzzled into her neck, continuing his sexual advances.

Julia checked back behind the pilot seats. _It was their only hope now_. They would have to use the cargo-drop parachute to escape the plane before it crashed… before the attack planes returned to finish the job. _My God! The bomb! They would have to remove the bomb!_

Using William's uncanny, out of control, lust to get him to do what she needed, Julia said, "William, I want to make love too… Back there on that platform. But you'll need to move that big bomb thing off the platform first. Hurry William! Please hurry!"

 _Oh, he was motivated!_ Like a flash, William Murdoch was in the back of the plane, disconnecting the wires from the alarm clock to the explosive device.

Up front, Julia was stuck holding the flight stick back with a foot, and the tilter down with a hand. She stretched and shoved, rushing, hurrying, she managed to wedge monster Klink's body against the flight stick to keep it in place. Still holding the tilter, she rallied to make a plan. _She would need to devise a way to pull the lever that opened the flaps in the floor of the plane to let the cargo-drop platform and parachute exit. The problem was that the handle was meant to be pushed backwards by a pilot sitting in the pilot's seat in the front of the plane, thus the cargo-release handle was too far away to reach_ _ **from the platform**_ _– and that was exactly where she and William_ _ **both**_ _needed to be when the floor flaps dropped opened – they both needed to be on the platform._

" _ **William's ropes!**_ " the answer came. _My God, she marveled at the complications and the pressure. Incredible, she was stuck there, needing two hands to tie the rope around the cargo-release handle, but also having to hold the tilter so the airplane wouldn't turn into a crashing spiral._

Julia was ripping a bottom piece of cloth from her skirt before she even thought to do so. She used the swath from her dress to tie the tilter in place by attaching it to Klink's leg, to keep the plane steering straight – Klink's body holding the flight stick back would keep them from going down any faster than they already were. Julia tied one end of William's rope around the cargo-release handle, took the other end of the rope and headed back to join William on the platform.

Her husband proudly, a cat-ate-the-canary grin on his handsome face, lie on his side, legs bent, for the platform base was not large enough for a person to lie out straight. He waited, having already removed the bomb. His eyes explored her flesh, her curvy calves newly revealed with the ripping away of nearly half of her skirt.

"Milady," he invited her.

 _Amazing, this man could twitch her womb with desire so, even in such a perilous situation._

Julia pushed her hands through the opening in the thick rope-netting that secured the cargo onto the platform and sat down next to him. She tucked her hand behind his head, slipping her fingers through his hair as she shifted to lie down next to him. She felt the rope in her other hand. She started to tuck herself under him, tilted her head, reached for his lips…

She was suddenly alone. William up, out through the netting, wobbly, she watched him. " _Unbelievable_ ," she thought sarcastically to herself, " _we end up dying because he went back for his hat._ "

William seized his hat from the floor in front of his seat. The plane pitched, and bucked, reacting to his weight moving around, or the change in the direction of the wind…

Peril stole her heart, for she imagined it, saw it happening in some odd sort of pre-sight… William was so unstable, unsteady on his feet. _He was going to trip on the cargo-release handle! He would accidently release_ _ **her**_ _in the parachute cargo-drop –_ _ **WITHOUT HIM!**_

"No! William!" she shrieked with all her might, "Be careful…"

He stumbled, his toe catching on the base of the handle, him falling flat out, _reminding her of when he flew through the air to tackle the American President to the floor to avoid his being assassinated, and then too of William's 'Peter Pan flight' from back when they played so happily with the stealing her red feather. She would have laughed, and she still did love him with all her heart,_ but she would have to go without him now _, and she lost her mind with the fear of it._

William splatted onto the plane floor, belly first. Miraculously, his hat still remained on his head, albeit somewhat askew. The cargo-release handle did not move, did not release the cargo. Thank their lucky stars, he would still be with her. _It should have been a clue, though… that it would not be so easy to move this handle._

So quickly she found herself tucked underneath him, being bathed in delicious kisses. In her mind, Julia imagined the ground below them getting closer and closer as the plane grew nearer to crashing. _She needed to pull the rope,_ she fought with herself not to get distracted by the dizzying love she was feeling.

William kissed down to her cleavage, taking in big mouthfuls of her, squeezing her body with both hands for easier access, losing sight of her pendant with each wave of his pushes, nibbling, and treasuring her flesh, sucking her in, tasting her, ravaging her, so aroused, so hungry.

Breathless, overcome with anticipation, excitement, surprising lustful wanting, and terrifying, insistent fear, Julia suddenly felt confident. She would take this unique chance to tease him, to remind him of her request, his promise, from years ago after he had flown from the upper atmosphere down to Earth in Pendrick's flying suit. She used her one hand free hand, tucked her fingers under his chin and lifted his face out of her bosom to meet his gorgeous eyes. "I told you, William Henry Murdoch, that if you _**ever**_ do something like this again you'd better take me with you," she said. Julia tugged hard on the rope, expecting their world to fall away.

She wasn't strong enough! It wouldn't open!

Oblivious, William had gone on to lowering his own underwear and was now lifting what was left of her skirts. Next, his fingers grasped her bloomers. He shoved at them, pushing them downward. Lower now, she felt the air caress her naked, damp flesh… Such a panic loomed… Pulling the rope had not worked! They were still stuck inside the plane… and it was soon to crash.

"William!" she ordered, loudly, commanding him with everything strength she had to get him to obey, "Pull this rope!" She grabbed his hand, brought it up to take hold of the rope. "Pull it as hard as you can!"

He focused his attention, blurry, but concentrated for the one moment they needed it most.

"Hold me," she begged, so grateful as she felt his other arm securing around her. Julia grabbed a hold of William's hat with one hand, and held on to him with every inch of her very being with the other.

William pulled the rope, moved the lever, shifted the handle, released the flap-opening mechanism that he himself had invented.

The scraping noise of the opening flaps, the whooshing sounds of the plummeting wind, seemed to disappear so quickly as they fell away from the plane.

Sheer force, nothing but hurling force, pulling them at rocket speed down to the massive Earth, the ultimate rush of gravity soared their world. Never had William felt such a lustful drop. Somehow oddly attributing the power of their fall to her, he screamed, "You're amazing Juliaaaa!" They were falling so fast, his voice stretched away into the distance as the Doppler effect pulled at the notes of it in the heart-roaring wind.

 _ **My God, the butterflies!**_

Unable to breathe, yet he kissed her, rugged and demanding and full of wild passion. He could do nothing but love this woman with every ounce of his being, down to his deepest core. He wanted only one thing – to touch her, to be deep, deep inside of her, touching that one perfect spot that they both knew existed, that made their lives worth living…

Underneath him, Julia was spinning out of control, utter panic taking hold. She was praying with all her might that the parachute would fully inflate. They were plummeting so fast! _We're going to die! …. At least I'll die with him…_ The thought somehow pulled her closer to him, and she felt him WITH her, felt his love cover her. _I love you so much William_ , she was not sure if she had said it or thought it, and she kissed him back, moved under him, seductively as her womb begged for him to come to her. The force of their fall plastered him tight to her, _or was it her tight to him…_

Such an effort at this speed to move his arms, to get into position…

 _At least we're together_ , Julia thought, and the rapid reflection on the thought brought to light the "at least" part, and then she realized, and she felt it with an astounding, heartbreaking flood of regret, the awareness overwhelming her – _**The Children!**_ It was unbearable to think of them as orphans. "Oh…" the pain seemed to sever her, as she felt William begin to push into her. " _Katie! Chelsea! Twice orphaned_ …"

With a soothing glow, a tone that comforted her from cell, to cell, to cell, she heard a rational voice, her voice, but fairy-godmotherly somehow, in her head tell her, " _There's nothing you can do about it now… Nothing left but to trust._ " And Julia Ogden remembered William and James Pendrick designing the handle that opened flaps of the plane floor on his workroom drawing board, then saw in her mind the huge parachute full of toys and flowers and candy drifting down over their yard. It was all up to the design and ingenuity of these two men now, these two exceptional men, their lives, their children's lives, everything depended on what they had done that day. Completely helpless, she yielded. And at that moment, the big parachute opened full span with a jerk, and William began to thrust harder into her as the floor held her tighter, firmer underneath him.

Even with the parachute slowing their fall, it seemed they never could catch up to the floor, Earth's gravity stronger on anything closer to its iron core than they were. Try as he might, William was not able to drive into her as ruggedly as he wanted to in the cramped space, with his knees bent and his toes wedging for a hold in the netting. But then, Julia grabbed hold of him… differently. And the world slowed, and there was a soaring and a rocking that was so very encouraging, and he dug in with all his might.

"Harder, William," she whispered in his ear, and he rocketed to full thrust. "We're almost there now… Don't stop."

" _You've got her. Right there… Just… that… last… tiny… inch…"_

 **Wham!** The platform hit the ground Haarrddd!

Never had he felt so close to her, as if her body had jammed up right through his.

Then the sky leaned away, gravity off kilter… Then, immediately after the tilt, a softer, _slam,_ into the ground and everything stilled. Quietly, the puffing sound of the parachute rustling into place on the Earth ceased as well. Julia underneath him pulled him down to her, requested him, called him to her with a yearning that was undeniable.

"Love me, William. Love me, as deeply and as hard as you possibly can!" and he focused again, able to get a firm grip on her now, grateful for solid ground that you could dig your teeth into, and he pounded his love into this magnificent woman with every spec of his being.

Finally, the wave of ecstasy hovered inevitable. And he touched her – in that one prefect spot, and she imploded, bursting open to him, gushing out to meet him as she heard his moan.

"Ahhh!" he rumbled. Demanding, cherishing each drop of the feelings of warm, gooshey love, he pumped on, stronger, longer, so delicious. "Amazing," he said, out of breath, scratchy and raspy, "It only gets better and better."

Julia giggled. She kissed his ear and she warned, "It will be hard to top that, detective."

"Mmm," he seemed to agree.

"But it will be fun trying, though," she said with a squeeze.

For William, the fuzzy warmth of having spent every piece of himself making love to her lingered scrumptiously in his drunken stupor. Julia too, however, found recovery wonderfully slow, it taking a long, long time to feel totally grounded. Even when she finally had, she felt her hair tugging and tingling at her scalp, as if each strand remained plastered backwards from having been in that amazing whirlwind with him.

Eventually, she ascertained that they had landed in a remote area, farmland, fields, crops, as far as the eye could see. She considered their options. William was dressed in only a very dirty pair of underwear… still however, looking gorgeous, she noted momentarily distracting herself by the thought. And he was seemingly still highly affected by the truth serum, for now that his adrenalin had been used up, he was slurring and dopey once more.

Wanting to go for a phone, she decided against it. She would not leave him, and he could not go. She decided to wait, there was hope that someone, some farmer in a field somewhere, would have seen them falling from the sky, would report the sighting of the strange parachute anomaly to the local Constabulary… Word would get to the Inspector. He would come.

Gathering herself together, a slight frown appeared on her face as Julia recognized that she too would have to contend with her own inappropriate dress… She had torn away a good portion of the bottom part of her skirts and a significant amount of her bare flesh could be seen below the tatters. She buttoned up her blouse and stood up to check the area.

William pulled up those filthy underwear and staggered a bit before he stood next to her. Such a dizziness, a soupiness, in his brain. He spoke, but it felt as if the voice was coming more from outside of himself than inside. "Should see smoke… planes, crashed planes make smoke… the pig…" He turned to look her in the eye…

 _And she saw how wobbly his stance was._ She would ask him, for it seemed not to fit with the plane crashing and smoke, this notion of a pig, and, as she asked, she braced for a good laugh, remembering his state. "The pig, William?" she pushed.

Reaching up, pushing the netting aside, thinking he, they, would leave the platform, a part of him wanting desperately to feel securely on the ground, he answered, _sort of_ , "Well, a pig-like creature, according to Geor… gge…" William stepped off the platform, wobbled terribly as he attempted to hold the netting out of her way.

"A pig-like creature?" she asked, incredulous, holding her face as straight as possible.

"It was not… not, I the Inspector thought… but no, the pig… Pigs can't control an aircraft," he finally insisted.

"No, I would think not," she answered, failing to completely repress a giggle. "Um…"

"You were in Freud at the time," he explained, causing her to completely explode into laughter.

" _He meant Vienna, surely,"_ she reasoned to herself. As her laughter subsided, she remembered returning from Vienna, finding William reconstructing an aircraft. _Could this whole pig thing be from then?_ She was about to ask when William started to cry. She looked at him bewildered.

"What is it, William?" she worried.

"I killed them," he confessed, seeming to crumble, "With a chain on their foot. Over and over again…"

Immediately, Julia recognized where, within his memories, he had gone. He had been devastated about his having had killed multiple pigs, in the most inhumane way, back when he was undercover at her cousin's meatpacking plant in Chicago, working on a case. He had suffered terribly over the years with nightmares and regret about what he had done to the innocent animals. Julia knew he would only beat himself up more if she let him stay there, especially with the truth-telling serum in his veins. She would need to get him thinking about something else. _Perhaps whatever got him onto the pig thing in the first place,_ she thought. _Oh yeah, he was looking for smoke, from the crashed plane – Colonel Klink!_

Julia cupped her husband's face in both of her hands and fluttered him with soft kisses. "William. William," she whispered tenderly to him. Her lips close to his ear, intimate, caring, "Were you looking for Colonel Klink's plane… where it crashed?"

In that instant, he stopped his crying. He turned and began to peruse the horizon, blocking the sun with his hand. That's when Julia noticed it – his hat, amazingly, after their death-defying drop from the plane, was still on his head.

There was no cloud or trail of rising smoke to be found in any direction. Julia remembered it, then wondered aloud, "There was no gas…"

William smiled and pulled her into his arms. "Jull… llyah, you are amazing." And then he kissed her.

 _Of course, when the pig's plane crashed, it was full of gasoline, but Colonel Klink's plane had no such accelerant. These two however…_

By the time the Constabulary arrived, William and Julia were quite settled into their landing site. William had fallen asleep in a fetal position on the platform, nestled cozily in his wife's arms, being hummed to, and stroked, and kissed, and wholly loved. The Inspector and Mr. Meyers and Mr. Pendrick pulled up to them in the field in one carriage, with George and Higgins right behind them in another. The five men stood before the Murdoch's who remained seated on the edge of the cargo platform, and they explained to the couple that Pendrick had taken them to the airbase location, and there they had discovered that the place had been completely cleared out.

Sitting on the platform next to the doctor, his barefeet resting in the soft soil of the crop field, William remembered finding the _Necco Wafers_ wrapper in the very first victim's pocket… the man who had been Meyers' best man, who had died trying to look out for William when he was first abducted.

 _Stunning, the way this man was so brilliant, even when his brain was this compromised._

"Alan Clegg!" William Henry Murdoch exclaimed, looking up into the men's silhouettes, "The base was American."

Terrence Meyers reacted with a mixture of amazement, and awe, and anger… and he worked with all his might to hide his embarrassment. " _Of course, it was that American weasel!_ " his brain yelled at him. "Blast!" he hollered, kicking away a clump of dirt. He needed a cigar. "It was an American airbase all along," he started to put the pieces together as he pulled out his cigar and lit it. "The American's arrogance never ceases to amaze me," he continued. "They probably wanted to spy on us, and also to have a safe place to land secretly to refuel their airplanes… And then this German Schiergen character," Meyers paused to puff, sending smoke into the air, "That little jockey guy that could hang from below a plane to take spy photos, well he must of gotten a picture of the American airbase, and the Germans thought it was ours… And then you two…" Meyers shook his head struggling with what to call Murdoch and Pendrick, for they were endlessly annoying and at the same time phenomenally brilliant and helpful.

Stuck, Meyers paused, changing the subject. "That explains why, the moment Clegg learned that the two of you…" he looked to Murdoch, then to James Pendrick, "were being given a hypnotic truth serum, well, that's when the devious rat disappeared. He was hurrying to cover-up the fact that they had built this airbase. He figured that, with the truth serum, you two probably had seen it and would tell the Germans where it was located. Damn, he played us. All the while Canadian men taking all the risks, getting killed…"

"And abducted," Julia added.

Meyers finished full circle, "And it was Clegg's base all along."

Pendrick considered, sharing his thoughts with them, "The Germans had been spying on me…"

Meyers interrupted snidely, "Everybody was spying on you."

Pendrick frowned and went on, "They planned to use my cargo-drop ideas…"

Now it was Julia who lit up with insight, "They were going to use it to drop bombs!"

Meyers held up a hand, drew all their eyes to him. He believed he had the whole story now. "That's what the Germans wanted Rutherford for, for a way to use their radioactive Polonium, or some other radioactive substance, in these bombs, to totally obliterate their enemies," he concluded. Meyers looked to Murdoch, the man sitting there, still drugged, nearly naked. He had been through hell. And a pang of dreaded guilt seized him, stopping him mid-sentence, "That's why they abduct…"

Inspector Brackenreid took a deep breath. As far as he was concerned, Meyers having had used of his best man, a man as innocent and trustworthy as Murdoch, for bait, nearly getting him killed in the process, meant that he would never be able to fully trust Terrence Meyers, but Thomas Brackenreid already didn't trust the man before this whole thing anyway. The way he saw it, Meyers had apologized. There was no point in going through it all again. He proposed, "We'll want to find that plane, see if it had a bomb."

Julia filled the men in on what she knew of the plane, and the fact that the leader of the German spy group had been shot, and, she believed, had been killed, and that there had been a bomb on the plane, and that William had defused it despite being so drugged, before they had used the cargo-drop parachute to save themselves from the plane – which by the way, had run out of gas, and was crashing because it had been attacked by what she now figured were American airplanes defending their now deserted airbase… It was a wild story, and then everyone, except for Meyers, for he had not been there, remembered the Murdoch's Anniversary Party and Madam Celeste's prediction, and they marveled together, for it seemed it had really come true, Julia Ogden had saved her husband from Air.

They stood in a huddle together, sharing their amazement with it all. At one point, the storytelling broke off, and then all eyes landed back on William, who was now seated alone a few feet away from the platform, in the dark, rich soil.

The sight of Detective William Murdoch, wearing only the lower portion of his underwear – a rather dingy pair of underwear at that – _**AND his HOMBURG**_ , would be enough to make anyone giggle. But add in the fact that he appeared to be slamming drunk, teetering and slurring, and then he tried to coax the doctor into going with him back under the parachute, "cause no one would see…" and well, needless to say, Inspector Brackenreid, Constable Crabtree, Terrence Meyers, James Pendrick and Constable Higgins all yielded to the temptation to do so… Higgins succumbing first and breaking into a raucous laugh, the others going down like dominoes after that. Guiltily, they all looked to Dr. Ogden.

"He can't help it," she argued. Then she looked back at her husband. He had tried to lean over sufficiently far enough to reach a dandelion, presumably for her, but in his quasi-inebriated state, he had wobbled and tilted over onto his side. Now, reminding of a turtle stuck on its back, he struggled to right himself. The sight, prized hat now rolled off in the distance, his skinny little ankles kicking about above his graying underwear… Well, Julia too, felt the internal eruption and giggled.

The group joined in for a second round.

William sat up and looked over at them, at first with wonder. Perhaps he would ask, and everyone's heart filled with remorse. But then he noticed. With a minor panic, he began to search the area around him, left and right.

Such worry when he asked it, "Where's my hat?"

And the world burst into laughter around him, and the Inspector retrieved his hat for him, and William Murdoch picked that troublesome dandelion and offered it to his wife, who flooded him with kisses, and then everybody applauded.

"Under the parachute?" William suggested again.

"No, my love. Not here," she said, giving him a reassuring kiss on the cheek.

The Inspector ordered, "One of you men… Give the detective here your jacket, heh?"

George gallantly rushed to unbuttoning his constable's jacket, but it was Higgins who volunteered his first. For his mentor and friend, George offered his trousers as well. Julia quickly jumped to take advantage of the offer, certain that William would have died of embarrassment if he were conscious of, not only the fact that he was publicly displaying himself in his underwear, but further, that those very same underwear were so… dirty, particularly after his sitting in the dirt.

Before William had put on Higgins' jacket, the Inspector commented, leaning close to the doctor's ear for privacy, "He does have a lot of scars, I see."

The doctor smiled and leaned even closer, "And I have never been so glad that he does, hmm?" she suggested.

"Indeed doctor. Indeed," the Inspector agreed.

George's trousers fit William well, but the constable did not maintain his physique as the detective did, and thus the constable's trousers clung taught over William's squared-off derriere, and the top was also quite snug when buttoned up around William's muscular shoulders and chest as well.

" _Too tight, but still… yummy_ ," Julia thought to herself about the fit.

The Inspector offered the couple one of the police carriages to take home. He and the other men would wait for the local Constabulary to collect the parachute and platform and then all of them would ride back to Stationhouse #4 together. He asked if the doctor could drive the horse. She answered that she could, then said, "But I think I'd prefer he go to the hospital…"

William gave the Inspector a pleading look, and mumbled some form of a complaint…

"William," Julia began her argument, after all, she was the doctor…

Brackenreid felt the tug of a fellow man in need, and rose to push back, "Oh, doctor… He would be so much happier in his own home, with his children around, and in his own bed… with his beautiful wife…" A devilish expression took his face, and he added, "So much better for what he truly wants than under the parachute," he teased.

Julia's scornful look was magnificent, and Brackenreid felt the slightest spark, knowing for certain in that moment, that their storms surely were the steamy delights Madam Celeste had foretold.

She gave in, however. "Home then," she said.

Generously, the Inspector offered, "Go home. Get him a bath. Crawl into bed with him. Hear his breathing again next to you like it should be. Both of you take tomorrow off. Come in on Friday."

"But Inspector, there's still a body in my morgue…" Julia wondered, thinking of Mr. Trappe, now identified as the German working in the University Chemistry Lab, a Mr. Weimer. There was a quick flash, it flared her whole body with a bittersweetness, _for she remembered William kissing her goodbye as she took that same man's body from the scene, and she had not known what horrors William was facing then, and she had thought she had lost him forever, and she hadn't after all, and now she felt the heat and the swelling behind her eyes as tears threatened, and she swallowed it away._

The Inspector had gone on. "And it should be his case," he had replied, looking to the dilapidated detective, "And he'll be in no state tomorrow."

"That will be no problem," Meyers spoke up.

Suspicion and a familiar anger filled both Brackenreid's and Dr. Ogden's faces… seeing it, a similar expression stole the two half-dressed constables faces too. They just knew it. Meyers would take the case away.

"Basically, it's solved now anyway," Meyers appeased, "But it needs to go down as something insignificant. The Prime Minister, I'm sure, will insist on it. This whole mess could start an international incident. I'm sure you understand," he stated, at least giving a little, using a pleading look, in the end.

Julia knew William would hate the idea, but, too, he would be hung-over like the dickens tomorrow…

"Very good," she answered, mirroring her husband's mannerisms.

William asked, slurring, as they stepped up into carriage, "You are still taking me Dinosaur hunting?"

"Yes, yes. We'll find you that fossil detective," she reassured, as her husband sat down at her side and she took the reins. There was happiness in her heart, for they were going home. She clicked to the horse and the carriage jerked into motion. Her mind drifted in the glory and the adventure and the destiny, as he slowly faded to lie his head in her lap. Julia released a contented sigh, reflecting on the truth, she had done it, it was true… _**she had saved him from Air.**_

)) ((


	17. 17: Whiskers & Whisked Memories

Back to the Drawing Board_17_Whiskers and Whisked Memories

) (

Constable Warren pulled the horse to a halt in front of the detective's home with a soft, "Whoa." Behind him, Julia was worrying about getting her nearly unconscious husband out of the carriage and into the house. She was grateful she had thought to go to the stationhouse before heading home. She would need the constable's help.

Pleasantly surprised, by the time the three of them got to the front steps, they found that William was able to stand on his own. Constable Warren helped him up the steps and then said his goodbyes. Julia suddenly realized she did not have the key – nor William, for he was dressed in little – Constable Higgins' top and George's trousers. She had left her key in her purse, which she remembered now, she had left at the stationhouse when they had hurried out to Patterson's Candy Factory to save William. She would need to ring the bell.

Their mother had called ahead, told them that she was on her way home from the stationhouse with their father, surging the whole household with a flood of relief and joy that seemed to vibrate at a blinding, breathtaking pitch. Eloise and Claire-Marie had spoken about the need to try to keep the children calm, for the doctor had requested it. She had explained that the detective's state was much like after the first time he had been abducted months ago… The captors had used the same drug on him this time as well, it seemed. " _Hopefully_ ," Eloise had thought as she had hung up the phone, " _they didn't also drain his blood this time."_

Having had been alerted to the fact that their parents were coming home, the children's ears were fine-tuned on the front door. Waiting, pretending to be interested in the reading of a story, both William Jr. and Katie heard their mother's voice on the front porch. Their eyes wide, they looked at each other with and electrified jolt, then at Claire-Marie. Their smiles, so big, contagious the glee, Claire-Marie too, leaped out of her seat. The nanny swooped Chelsea up into her arms and hurried behind in the wake of the two older of children running to the door.

William Jr. bursting, battled with the pesky lock and doorknob, quickly mastering it. The door pushed opened. **It was true! It was them!**

"Daddy! Daddy!" rippled and swelled their happy cries.

Incredibly weak, pained by their loudness, William was overwhelmed with the deluge of love in his heart and he dropped to his knees to catch them. Tears filled his eyes. Words, his voice, failed him. He pulled them into a tighter, more humungous hug than he could ever remember hugging before.

Her little head nestled and smothered in her father's neck, Katie complained, "Daddy you smell bad…"

 _And Julia chuckled to herself, for it was surely true…_

"But your hair smells like candy," the little one added, as her father pulled her back into another hug.

" _Unbelievable,_ " Julia thought. She looked to Eloise and said, "I wish I'd asked the three-year old instead of Dr. Tash… about that **sweet smell**." She reached over and removed William's well-fought-for homburg from his head to hang it on its natural hook.

Immediately, Eloise grasped the profound meaning of the doctor's comment, and nodded with a knowing smile, sharing the irony of it with the her.

William Jr., now pushed back from his father, and watching as his father strained and groaned to stand, and then reached for his baby sister, Chelsea, noticed with wonder, "Daddy, you're dressed like Uncle George!?"

And her son's comment brought her awareness back to the reality of William's significantly hungover state of being and all that he had been through, and she realized that, despite the momentary burst of energy, no doubt powered by his overwhelming feelings of love and relief and joy for being back with his children, being home, and finally being safe, she needed to watch out for him still.

"Daddy feels very sick right now. He's been through a lot of hard things… He has a really big headache, and… well, we all need to be quiet…"

William Jr. made the connection. "Like when he needed blood, Mommy?" he asked.

Katie excited, hopeful, pleaded, "Can I give Daddy blood this time?"

Julia smiled and kneeled down to get her own hug from their children. Cupping her little daughter's face in her hands, treasuring her, she replied, with a compassion and warmth that bathed everyone in the room, "Your Daddy doesn't need blood this time, Little One. Just some time to sleep it off. But I'm so proud of you though, and your bravery, and I know you would give Daddy anything you could to help him, hmm?" she nodded.

Her little girl nodded vigorously, so glad her Mommy knew how much she loved her Daddy.

"Let's all give Daddy a kiss goodnight…."

"But, it's not bedtime yet," William Jr. rallied to complain.

"Not for you, for Daddy," Julia said, standing. Kissing Chelsea hello while the baby was still in William's arms, she then took Chelsea from him, her warm, blue eyes catching his, loving him down to his soul. Julia handed the baby back to Claire-Marie and asked the young woman to watch the children a little longer while she took care of William.

Grateful he could handle the stairs himself, albeit a bit shakily, she got him up into their bedroom and closed the door. William spotted the bed, and wanted nothing more than to be in it. Julia rushed forward to block his progression towards the bed. "You need a shower, William," she said, reaching up, hurrying to remove his clothes as quickly as possible, knowing that at any moment his adrenalin would be spent and he would collapse.

His borrowed constable's uniform in pieces peppered about the floor, in the mix was his utterly disgusting underwear, she had gotten him into the shower. His knees buckled as he suddenly decided he would be willing to sleep in there.

"No!" she screamed, her urgency pumping him to temporary alert.

Rapidly, herself still clothed _(if you could call it that in that scandalously revealing, ripped and tattered, skirt),_ she turned on the shower hoping the blast of cold water would waken him. She gasped with the freezing flood of it, thinking to herself that she was actually glad she was dressed to protect from the breath-stealing, icy water. So quickly, she sudsed up the shampoo in his hair, soaped up his body. _Amazing, how her body tugged at her with lust…_ as her creamy, slippery hands rode the contours of him. " _Hurry up! Hurry up!"_ she corrected her distraction.

Drenched, she toweled him off while she, herself, dripped all over the floor. Then, pushing her luck, she encouraged William to brush his teeth. He did it poorly under her supervision, but she figured it was better than nothing.

"One last thing," she pleaded with her drowsy, inebriated husband, noting his eyes longingly returning to their bed. " _Just the pajama bottoms,_ " she thought to herself, _for the children would surely be here at some point, and she didn't want him naked._ William staggered as he leaned on her and stepped, one leg at a time, into the soft, red fabric of his comfy pajamas.

 _Finally! The bed!_ Face down, he truly was asleep before he hit the pillow.

Soaked, Julia stood over his sleeping body. She would need to find a sheet to cover him, for he was on top of the blankets. She wished she had gotten him to drink some water, it would have helped with his recovery, but it was too late now. She undressed. _So many items of clothing to be thrown into the garbage, her skirt, his underwear, perhaps her blouse as well…_ She would have the two constables' uniforms dry cleaned. She put the pendant she had been wearing around her neck back in her jewelry box, left his wedding band on her vanity for him later. She would be quick, take a shower herself, before she wholly relaxed with the children while William recovered.

) (

It was few hours later – after she had led the children, whispering and stealthy, into their darkened bedroom to kiss their Daddy goodnight – that Julia joined him in bed. She too, on top of the covers, Julia draped his sheet over her tired body as well. It hit her like a rock then… she was thoroughly exhausted. It felt as though it were in that very instant that she was asleep, finally able to let go, for he was safe and with her, and she relaxed and the heaviness of all she had been through pressed down on her, and she rocked and rippled and allowed herself to be taken away.

)

It must have been hours later, sometime in the middle of the night, that Julia woke up. There was a dread, and she chased after it. In the dark, she heard him breathing, felt the slight tilt of the mattress under her as it yielded to his weight next to hers, and she remembered… _he was safe…_ and she breathed, deeply, for what seemed like the first time in a very, very, long time. Julia turned her head to search for the shadow of him in the near blackness. He was still on his belly, it seemed in the exact same position he had been dropped naked in months ago when she had found him that first time after he had been abducted. His breathing had been labored and weak then, now however, it was robust, nearly snoring. William's hungover, big, long, rushed exhales flowed over her. She marveled at the feeling of it… he was " _breathing next to her_ " just like the Inspector had said he was meant to do.

"Come here," she warned him in a tender whisper, him hearing her somewhere in his sleep. She lifted his arm, slid and wiggled her smaller body in an effort to get under him. William woke enough to give in to her request, he rolled to give her room, then he rolled back on top of her, and glided a leg upward. Julia slipped her hand behind his head, felt the comfort of the familiar sensation of his soft, black hair at the back of his neck between her fingers and snuggled and tucked herself deeper under him still, guiding his head down into her bosom. She had so wanted to feel the weight of him on her, " _his water holding down her fire_ ," she thought. His breathing, deep, strong, rhythmically reliable, it reminded her of the sea roaring to the shore. She felt safe, happy.

The tiniest memory flashed across her mind, of when she had sat in the Inspector's office. George had brought her tea. She was on the Inspector's small couch, where she usually sat with William. She had taken the china saucer, tucked her finger into the handle of the cup – _she realized now the warmth of it had reminded her of their hot chocolates in the middle of the night when one or the other of them couldn't sleep…_ The scent of the tea had wafted up, and then, as she had placed the cup down, it had made the tiniest " _ **clink…**_ " and now, in the dark underneath him… although she was not sure why… Julia started to cry.

Holding her breath, fighting the wave, not wanting to wake William, she came to understand the association. _She had made it then_ , she thought, the smell of the tea reminding her that William liked tea, her preferring coffee, _but there was something more_ , something that had shaken her to her core with grief, and she understood now, that the _clink_ sound had done it, for it had nearly matched, in tone, and in volume, and in location near her heart as she had held the warm cup, it had reminded her of when her pendant had _clicked_ to his badge… Her mind gasped, " _That's why I wanted to wear the pendant so badly…_ " And the memory, the thoughts, continued on. It had been the first time she had really, really, lost him, when she was saying goodbye to him in the carriage and moving away to Buffalo. The _click_ sound had rung in her soul then, foretelling that she was losing him, that they had been meant to be together and that she was losing him.

Julia inhaled for the first time since she had started to cry in the dark under him, accepted the sensation of the burn as the air rolled out over her heart. _And she told herself that she hadn't lost him, not then and not this time either, but…_ and, with this thought, her crying rose into weeping… just as he had written in his _**letter**_ to her, _she would remember_ _ **him in everything**_ _, absolutely everything, and it would hurt, and it would truly be so beautifully sad… and_ _ **it had been**_ _so beautifully sad…_

Reassuring herself, she guessed that these confounding tears were relief, and unspent grief, _perhaps…_ And what was most important, in all the world, was that he was _not_ lost. He was right here with her, and he was safe. Her next breath, deeper, calmer, the wave had rolled over her now, had passed. She encouraged it, her mind moved on to tomorrow. _He would still be quite hungover,_ she advised herself. _Probably best to keep the children at bay at first…_

) (

Morning sunlight filled the house when the children knocked at their bedroom door, waking them. A wounded groan from her husband, Julia slipped out from underneath him and hurried to the door.

"Good morning, my sweeties," she said, kneeling down to the floor to hug them. _It warmed her heart so the way they did this, came to the door, little Chelsea's hand in one sibling or the other's, knocked, waited._ "We need to let Daddy sleep, remember?" she asked.

William Jr. looked past her into the bedroom…

William sat up – WHAM, the pounding slammed inside his head, nearly flooring him. Yet, he fought against the whirlwind, and the gravity, and the pain, of it. He scratched out, his voice only a breezy whisper until he had cleared his throat, "Julia… Let them in."

Her last effort at protecting him, she squeezed them tight before she let them enter and reminded, "Quietly children."

Walking with repressed enthusiasm, that incredibly cute way children can when their insides are bursting, they rapidly came to his side. It was almost a whisper, William Jr. said, "You have cockatoo hair again, Daddy."

Julia giggled, really looking at her husband for the first time that morning. He did look awful, and she felt such a humungous pang of love sweep through her. Yes, his hair stuck up into the air reminding of the unique bird's feathery crest, and he was more unshaven than she had ever seen him…

That was exactly what Katie noticed too, immediately in his lap, her tiny hands cupping and stroking his three-day old stubble. "Daddy," his little girl wondered, absolutely fascinated by his beginnings of a beard, "You have whiskers!" she declared.

"I do?" he answered her, pretending to be surprised and reaching up to discover it for himself.

Finding it irresistible, little Katie softly leaned in to him and rubbed her cheek against his prickly jawbone.

Oh, how he regretted it right after he had done it, for it was loud and boisterous, the children's response, but habit had seized him, and William had suddenly had an instinct to play, to play with his spectacular children. He had wanted to hear them laugh and scream out in joy, and so, he had tickled his little daughter, and then the eruption came.

WHAM - how his head pounded in agony, as all three of them catapulted on to him and covered him in the fireworks of their roughhousing glee.

Julia saw it, her husband's self-inflicted, love-smothered, torture. She would save him.

"Children! Children!" her voice called out, low in volume but strong in parenting seriousness. She went for the largest one first, lifting William Jr. off of his father. "You will be able to play with Daddy later… when he feels better. We are going to let him sleep now," she said, already having placed Chelsea on the floor next to her brother, now going for Katie.

Julia leaned over and kissed her husband on the cheek. Then she took William Jr.'s hand in one hand, the little boy holding toddling Chelsea's hand to form their tiny chain, and Julia took Katie's hand in her other hand, and she led them out into the hall to get ready for the day. The bedroom door closed, William rubbed his throbbing head. He did not feel good, nauseous, dizzy… and _my God_ , his head hurt.

)

Only a few minutes later, Julia came back in. William had rested his head back against the headboard, but had not even spent the effort to lie back down. "Claire-Marie has the children," she said with her voice low.

William opened an eye, looked at his amazing wife. It rose in him, giving him strength, he loved her so. He reached out, took her hand, pulled her to him. Julia lifted her nightgown, that gorgeous, long leg of hers, over him, crawling into his lap to straddle her husband with her knees bent at his sides. He noticed – feeling such a soreness with the sight of it – she had a black eye. With a tenderness that rocked her soul, he reached up to touch the bruise carefully with his thumb, cupping her small, beautiful face.

"Do you remember it?" she asked him.

Zing, the panic, for he did not, and he worried if it was his fault. _What had he done!?_

Julia held his face, her fingers too, tingling with the delight of his stubbly feel. She leaned in, kissed his cheek. "Don't worry, William," she reassured. "Everything's alright. I promise," she seemed to know exactly how to settle his fears.

Julia leaned her chest into his, tucked her face in his neck. She just wanted to be with him there for a moment. Lovely, his arms around her, his clean scent lingering and lounging around her.

They readjusted their positions, laid down in the bed together, her resting her head on his chest, so familiar the feel of it.

"What do you remember, William?" she asked.

He took a deep breath. Truth be told it hurt to try, the effort more than he could muster.

 _How did she know?_ He needed help. _Perhaps back to where it had started, this last abduction?_ She asked, "Do you remember being at the crime scene… um, the victim had a card George found… Adam Trappe?"

Amazing, he reacted now as he had then, William giggled. _Bam_ , the thunderous pounding in his skull when he did so.

"You're head hurts?" she worried, lifting up to find his eyes.

He replied, "It does. But it won't last forever… Right doctor?"

She sidled upward, closer to his ear, and whispered "No, it won't."

Her eyes, absorptive, a stunning, magnetizing blue, summoned him, "But we will?" he coaxed.

She whispered, even closer, "Yes, we will, William. I do believe we will." She gave his earlobe a kiss, sucked on it tenderly, then rubbed her cheek against his stubble before she laid back down on his chest again.

"Do you remember Colonel Klink?" she asked him.

Quick his answer, "Yes." He didn't say it, but instantly, down in his gut, there was an intense aversion to the sound of the slimy man's name.

The striking memory of finding William's room in the captor's lair flashed in Julia's mind, prompting her to ask, "The little room, William – do you remember the tree?"

"Yes," he answered her, and his mind ran away with the memories of being there… and his eyes filled with tears.

And her heart ached so for him. Julia lifted up, kissed at his falling tears.

He asked her then, unsure how such a notion came to him, "You saved me from the air… You…" William cleared his throat, emotions getting the best of him. "The Inspector spoke of the parachute we landed in," he explained, having had found an inkling of a memory, "Was it Klink… Klink who hit you?"

Julia kept her voice firm. "Yes, in the plane," she said. She wondered if he remembered the plane. _He was completely under the influence of the drug the whole time they were in it…_

He rolled her over onto her back and kissed her, before she could ask him. _Oh, what a spark,_ the passion grew between them. A kiss breaking off, he found her ear. "I think I feel up to it," his hot breath told her.

Julia felt his nudge, a suggestively noticeable poking against her body, her womb igniting with a delightful twisting in response to it, and yet, she thought better of it. "Later," she replied, "Sleep now, my love." She slipped out from under him, covered him with the sheet. "You'll feel much stronger later," she encouraged. Then she put on her robe and left.

) (

Inspector Brackenreid felt glad of one thing – at least Murdoch wasn't here to see Meyers stealing away his case. The spy had gone over to the morgue to collect the last body, the body of Adam Trappe – a man who had been working for the Germans, a man who in truth was named Mr. Weimer. This was after Meyers had taken all of the documents (most of which were in German – _though Murdoch would not have been deterred by such a thing, the Inspector was sure_ ) and other evidence that the Constabulary had collected from the Werther's section of Patterson's Candy Factory. The amassed evidence had been particularly rich with respect to the contents from the German spy-ring leader's office, a man they now knew to be a head spy known as Colonel Wilhelm Klink. There were still six of the German spies down in their cells. The Inspector considered sneaking down to interrogate them, now that Meyers was not around.

It seems young Crabtree had had the same idea. There was a soft knock at Brackenreid's door, the constable stepping in and closing the door behind himself. Stealth was all over his face. He nearly whispered, "Sir, the masked man from the films is still in the cells…" George's eyes glanced out into the stationhouse through the glass windows of the Inspector's office. He continued, his eyes still perusing, "The man claims to know nothing, but surely that is far from the truth…" he stopped there, waiting for a sign… for a subtle hint at permission. _His gut cursed him though, for he had considered following his Aunt Rose's advice – to ask for forgiveness instead of permission – and now he was wishing he had done so._

Inspector Brackenreid sighed. " _Too early for a bloody drink_ ," his brain chided. " _The German is less likely to talk with his fellow spies overhearing – but Meyers is more likely to catch Crabtree if I let him use the Interrogation Room…"_ he debated in his head.

"Let me call over to Miss James. Mr. Meyers went to check on his man's progress in taking the German's body. There was a considerable amount of other evidence Meyers would be interested in… bullets and such, was there not? It might take her awhile to gather all of that up."

George's eyes thanked his superior. "Yes, I believe you're right about that sir," he responded. "The doctor mentioned the victim's clothing being important, err, something about the bullet hole not lining up with the wound in the body," he added. "I will go check on the prisoners, sir," he said confidently. With a nod, he hurried to the door, eager to undertake the confidential task.

"I won't be around for a while, Crabtree. I'm going to the scene of the plane crash – with or without Meyers' permission. I know we've been told there was no body in that plane, but Dr. Ogden said the man behind this whole thing was dead, **and in that plane** , when she and the detective parachuted out. I'd like to see for myself," Brackenreid informed his second-best man of his plans. He would look for evidence that the body had been removed from the plane, and hopefully, evidence which indicated whether it was removed by Meyers, or the Germans, or even that shifty American, Clegg.

)

Convinced the fat German man was making more of a show of it than need be in order to make an impression of the other men left in the cells, George rolled his eyes as, for the umpteenth time, Sargent Schultz insisted that he knew, "NOTHING! **NOTHING!** " Once in the Interrogation Room, however, the man seemed inclined to tell EVERYTHING! EVERYTHING! George's only problem was that he had so little time…

"Sargent Schultz," George asked, "It is obvious that Detective Murdoch was not killed…"

Schultz held tightly to George's eyes. "I liked your detective, constable. He vas kind. Und, ve did not harm him…" Schultz looked away, for though this was true, for the most part, Klink certainly _meant to_ have the Canadian men killed in the end. Schultz's conscience was getting the best of him.

"I don't believe that is true Sargent," George quickly countered. "And someone was surely killed in that film. Who was that?" he pushed.

 _There was a glance, the men's eyes meeting, and George saw regret there… even shame._

"Ze man vas a sailor, from ze docks. He vas lured to us vith the promise of money. He vas drugged at ze time. He felt NOTHING! NOTHING!" Schultz tried to convince himself the innocent man had not suffered.

"Murder is murder, Sargent. And you murdered that man," George charged, "You were the masked man in film."

 _They both knew it was true. And they both knew that Sargent Schultz had been ordered to kill many more men in the past as well._

Sargent Schultz sighed, the sound long and deep. He would yield. A distinct feeling of relief spread through the Sargent's body as he told Constable Crabtree how the films had been made to look as if Detective Murdoch had been murdered, a feeling he had not had since being a young man and sitting in Confession. There was also an inkling of pride – for the plan had been brilliant.

"After ze first film, ve left ze Pendrick-man hooded, und ve took avay ze ransom sign from ze detective's lap, und zen ve chloroformed ze detective, so ve could get him on film vith his face und unconscious. Zen ve could start ze second film vith ze unconscious detective, und his handsome face clear in ze camera, seated next to ze hooded Pendrick. Zen, we dressed ze sailor – who ve made sure had ze same muscular body as your detective – ve dressed him in ze detective's clothes. Ze shoes vere a problem zough – ze sailor had ze big feet…" Out of habit, Schultz flinched, expecting to be smacked, for Klink would have done so since he had, once again, gotten so for off on a tangent.

 _Ironically, George Crabtree recognized the feeling._

Helping the spy get back to the point, George led, "And then you started that second film with you blocking the camera with your shirt, so the end of the first film would be right before the beginning of the second film, and it would look like the two things happened right in sequence. It would start with Detective Murdoch unhooded and unconscious next to Mr. Pendrick who would have a hood on. Then you would walk into view, put a hood on the detective, walk off again, blocking the camera with your shirt, and then it would appear, when you returned with the gun, that it was Detective Murdoch under the hood when you shot him in the head, but it was, in reality, the sailor."

"Jawohl," Schultz declared haughtily, nearly clicking his heels together in a show of German strength. _It was dawning on him though; this constable was smart_. He had already figured out all of their film tricks. And that was how the Canadians had known that the detective had still been alive. And that was the reason the Canadians had rushed so to find them and stop them, in an effort to save the detective's life – and the other Canadian prisoner too. Briefly, he wondered, " _But, how did they find us?_ _Canadians were not so dumb after all,_ " he told himself.

A sudden fury enraged George with the man's loud boasting. "Do you know the man's wife watched those films!? Do you have any idea how much she loves him… what seeing you do – _to her husband –_ in those films did to her!?" George nearly screamed it, seething with both the desire to beat the man silly, and to break down into tears with the devastating memories.

Schultz's resolve crumbled. He _**did**_ know how much the detective loved his wife, and, so too, he understood that the woman must love the detective equally as much, and he felt awful for scaring her so. His eyes sagged at the edges, reminding of a sad puppy. "I am sorry about zhat," he offered the only thing he had, a sincere apology.

George took a deep breath. _He couldn't help it… he liked this man_. Unconsciously, George wrinkled a corner of his mouth, admitting it to himself. " _He'll have his neck in the noose soon enough,"_ George thought, finding he was feeling sorry for the pudgy, somewhat clumsy, lovable man. He lifted an eyebrow slightly, considering, " _Of course, Meyers will take him. Maybe he will want him alive, maybe a double-agent?"_

Softer now, George asked, "And you needed to keep Detective Murdoch alive because he had seen the airbase you were looking for. You still needed him to help you find it. Tell me about this truth serum you used. Why hadn't you found the base already?" Crabtree asked.

Schultz thought about it. _The two Canadians seemed honestly unable to find it on their maps. And besides, the detective got so… sidetracked… when he was injected with the serum, incessantly concerned with his hat and having sex with his wife_. "Of zhis, I know NOTHING! NOTHING!" he claimed.

George reminded himself he was running out of time, for, if the Inspector had ended up going to the plane crash site without Meyers, then the Canadian spy would surely be back from the morgue at any minute. He decided to get to more important matters. "And you intended to blow up the airbase with some radioactive bomb you created – using Pendrick's cargo-drop device?" he asked.

"I know NOTHING! **NOTHING!** " Schultz declared, thinking it had just worked with the truth serum question, it would probably work to deny knowing anything with the bombs and the attack plan questions as well.

But Crabtree pressed on. "You had been spying on both Mr. Pendrick and the detective. I know you had. The detective's wife – the woman you tortured with that film that led her, that had led all of us, to believe the detective had been shot in the head and shoved into a vat of some all-consuming, boiling, flesh-eating liquid… That woman used Pendrick's parachute…" George struggled for the word, "parachute-thing, to save their lives from the airplane…"

 _Oh, the possibility hit Schultz hard!_

"Who vas flying zis plane?" he asked, _for the detective surely could not have flown an airplane in his drugged state, and Schultz was fairly sure the detective's wife could not fly a plane…_

The constable's eyes blazed into Schultz's, searching deeply down to the man's inner core. _Did this man love his superior the way he loved the detective and the Inspector? Would he be heartbroken to learn of the man's death?_

Emotions overwhelmed Sargent Schultz, a sense of freedom, of revenge… and of such a profound sadness. _Who knew – it seems he did love Colonel Klink after all._

"It vas Colonel Klink, in ze plane?" Schultz asked, his blue eyes tugging at George's.

George nodded. "Yes. We believe so. The doctor, um, Detective Murdoch's wife said so. I'm sorry, Sargent. I, err, we… the plane crashed, um, after the detective and his wife had dropped themselves out of it, um in that parachute-thing that Pendrick invented. I believe your colonel is dead."

"He vas a cruel man, constable," Schultz told, shaking his head, battling to accept the truth. Schultz sighed. He could not deny the feeling of loss, despite the illogicalness of it. Klink had treated him – everyone – horribly. Herr Colonel was destined to suffer a harsh death, recompense for all that he had done to others. The weight off his shoulders, however, lightened his tongue. Sargent Schultz took a deep breath. He told all he knew. _It was far more than nothing_. The Germans were designing a radioactive bomb to drop on whole cities and kill thousands. They were building up forces, of underwater boats, and ships, and airplanes. They would take over the world. And, if nothing else, Klink had managed to force the Canadians to disclose the fact that they, too, were in the process of building up such forces.

George figured it would not hurt to tell Schultz that the Canadians were **not** the ones who had built the base – it was the Americans, illegally building it on Canadian soil.

And Sargent Schultz felt remorseful, in the end, because they had put the Canadians through so much suffering, and it had really been the Americans they should have been targeting all along.

There was a knock at the Interrogation Room door. The front-desk constable had rushed back to inform George that Mr. Meyers had returned to the stationhouse and gone to look for the Inspector, expecting him to be in his office. Meyers would surely be looking for Crabtree to inquire about the Inspector's whereabouts at any second.

Swiftly, the front-desk constable took Sargent Schultz away, back down to the cells. George went to the Inspector's office play dumb – it seemed the Inspector did not get Meyers' permission to inspect the plane crash site. _George Crabtree coached himself to claim to Meyers that he knew nothing –_ _ **nothing.**_

)

Later that afternoon, Inspector Brackenreid returned to the stationhouse. Stepping out of his cab, he had noted that Meyers had some men and carriages to use take away the German prisoners. They were parked in the back near the stables. He hoped to get in without being noticed by the spy.

"Crabtree," he called, glancing into his empty office, "Is Mr. Meyers about?"

"Yes, uh… He's removing the prisoners, I believe, sir," George answered.

The Inspector signaled for George to join him. They rushed into his office, closed the door, and hurried to share what they had each learned. Brackenreid had found two items that he believed told the story of what had happened after the plane crashed. One was another of those, now famous, _Necco Wafers_ wrappers. He had wondered aloud how a spy as devious and intelligent as Alan Clegg could be so daft as to go about leaving behind such an obvious clue so often. The other was an overlaying of multiple footprints on top of a trail of scuff marks leading away from the plane, suggesting a man had been dragged out of and away from the wreckage. He believed Clegg had gotten to the plane crash site quickly, removed Klink's body – and any other useful or incriminating items, and then Meyers' men had arrived sometime afterwards.

"I found it odd, at first," the Inspector commented, "that there had been no fire when the plane crashed. But, I remembered that the doctor mentioned they had run out of gas, before they were attacked. There were bullet holes all over the bloody plane. It's really a wonder they survived it. Meyers must have collected any bullets embedded in the plane's metal…

"Or more likely Clegg, before Meyers got there, sir," George inserted.

Inspector Brackenreid went on, "Well, there were none to be found. Probably would have been American guns, I wager…"

George replied, "As to the fire, sir, I do remember the plane that had the pig in the pilot's seat, err… Pendrick's first plane I believe… Well, sir, that one definitely caught fire in the crash. Since this one didn't, they definitely would have been able to reclaim the body."

The Inspector pulled an uncommon, single-spectacle out of his pocket. "And I found this in the plane," he added, handing it to Crabtree.

"An eyepiece, sir," George said. "Both Clegg and Meyers must have missed it. We can ask the doctor. It certainly isn't hers or the detective's. It must have been Colonel Klink's, sir," he concluded, based on the fact that Dr. Ogden had told them the head German spy had been the only one on the plane with them.

"Proof, at least, that the bloody enemy spy was in the plane, I'd think. There's some comfort in that… Drink Crabtree?" he asked.

Meyers stepped into the Inspector's office, after sending off the German prisoners. He also partook in a drink of scotch with the Inspector and Constable Crabtree, as well as a cigar. He claimed that justice would be done. The German spy ring had been broken up. Those who had committed murder and other serious crimes would suffer the consequences. The Prime Minister had been informed of the illegal American actions, of their government clandestinely building a military base on Canadian land. It would likely give Canada some advantage in future relations with the arrogant, and sometimes difficult, neighbors to the south. With that, the head Canadian spy was readying to take his leave.

Meyers hunted for an ashtray to extinguish the remnants of his cigar. Brackenreid nodded to Crabtree, who brought one over from near the liquor decanter.

Terrence Meyers stamped out his cigar stump. "I think I will stop by Murdoch's home… to say my goodbyes. I…" _He found it odd, that he had a hard time saying it. He had intended to say he wanted to thank the man, but he knew_ _ **in his heart**_ _what he really wanted to do was to say he was sorry. But, inside a man like Terrence Meyers, the heart does not often talk with the mind, and so he was not aware of it_. "I want to thank him for his service to is country," he said instead. "Dr. Ogden too," he added, standing, placing his tophat on his head. Meyers reached out his hand. Shaking Constable Crabtree's hand, then Inspector Brackenreid's, he thanked them for their service to their country. _Still, it lingered between them – here too there was much unsaid._

"Since you're going there anyway, perhaps you can bring Murdoch some of his things," Brackenreid suggested. There was Murdoch's suitcase, the one their housekeeper had brought by days ago with a fresh suit, and some other items recovered by the Constabulary at the candy factory – the secret German prison – the place that they would never know had been called _Stalag 13_. Murdoch's original badge and the suit he had been wearing when he was first abducted had been found there, along with his keys, a small case full of tiny picks and other gadgets, likely used to open locks, a magnifying glass, a knife, a small leather notebook, two handkerchiefs… _How the man fit so much in his pockets was a wonder?_

The final set of items Brackenreid had for Meyers to return to Murdoch he laid out on his desk for all three of the men to see. They were photographs of the drop at Murdoch's house.

"Recognize the place?" Brackenreid asked.

"It's the detective's house," George said, his voice misty with intrigue.

The Inspector jogged his memory, "Remember, Dr. Ogden said that Murdoch and Pendrick had dropped some things…"

"Yes, sir. Toys, I think, and maybe flowers," Crabtree finished, "They dropped them from the plane. You can see the parachute…" George pointed, "And his backyard… Remember, sir? From the Anniversary Party," he exclaimed, with the memories of the event spilling into his mind, and then into the Inspector's as well.

Mystified, George lifted his head to meet the Inspector's eyes, Meyers watching on. Profound awareness in his tone, George said, "Dr. Ogden, sir… It came true. Madam Celeste's prediction, her fortune… Sir, the doctor really did save him…" George waited, somehow knowing the Inspector would finish his thought.

"She saved him from the air," Inspector Brackenreid said.

"Hogwash," Meyers scorned after they had explained to him about the psychic's fortune, and how she had said that the stars predicted all that had happened with the lives of the detective and Dr. Ogden, and the Madam's foretelling of the events that had just happened – of Dr. Ogden saving Detective Murdoch from the air. Meyers picked up one of the photos from the desk.

"These are spectacular," Mr. Meyers said, changing the subject. "You can see phenomenal details… and relationships between sizes and distances between things, like the house here," he pointed, "and the woods, and this… What is that little building?"

"A shed, I believe," George said. Waxing philosophical, or more so entrepreneurial, George's voice grew enthusiastic, "You know…"

 _The Inspector prepared to roll his eyes…_

"I think something like this would be very popular with the common man. Everyone would want to have such pictures, of their homes, and their businesses, and places they often travel, from so high above like this. Perhaps Detective Murdoch should patent it – his _Goggle Earth_ invention," the eager constable suggested.

Meyers had other ideas. He shared, giving them a hint, "One could figure out where to hide for an ambush… or how long it would take using various routes to get to the back shed from the front gate," the spy noticed. " _The value of such a device for surveillance of one's enemies is enormous,"_ Meyers' spy-voice hollered at him. He gathered up the photographs. "I'll be sure to get them to Murdoch," he said… " _After I make copies_ ," he added in his head. Murdoch's possessions in his hands, the head Canadian spy in all the land, having had removed now every trace – _except for Colonel Klink's monocle_ – of the existence of an American airbase, and a German spy ring, here in Toronto, was gone.

) (

Eloise peeked, moving to see into the dining room, looking after the detective. Sometimes, like in this instance, the fairytale-like life her employers had made together fascinated her more than others. They had both been through horrendous and monumental adventures, possibly this latest one taking the cake. Now, she watched him, standing on the other side of the backdoor, watching his wife, his children. " _What must he be thinking?"_ she wondered, certain it was an awe and a gratitude to God, knowing that the man was quite religious, he would be thanking God for all he had.

Their three children pedaled and galloped about in the backyard on their "Summer Santa" toys. Julia, sitting on their deck, her few unruly and delicate curls fluttering about gracefully in the summer breeze, sat under the shade of the umbrella reading the newspaper. With a pain, but also an awe in his chest, he observed that her black eye had ripened in color. He breathed in the awareness deeply – she was a rare and a remarkable woman. Nearly noon, he had slept long and deep. Content was an understatement, vastly improved by joy. He had often wondered about the power of nearly dying to help one see the profound gift of one's life. He would not have chosen it, but he was grateful for it.

William opened the backdoor of their dining room and stepped out into the Sun, drawing Julia's eyes up from the paper. "Good morning, Mrs. Murdoch," he said.

"Is it," she teased with an eyebrow up, "…still morning?" Her gentle giggle wafted across the air, lightening his heart.

He moved a chair closer to hers. "The children seem quite happy… making good use of their gifts," he said.

"Yes, quite," Julia agreed. "William Jr. has been asking to take his bike into the woods," she added, marveling in the similarities between her son and her husband.

The inventor in him jumped to designing a better bike for the job. "It'll need thicker, wider tires…"

She interrupted his thoughts, declaring, "You'd have him riding his bike through the mountains and the jungles if you had your druthers, hmm William?" _Oh, how her heart flipped over when his beautiful brown eyes looked into hers, and he wrinkled a corner of his mouth, admitting it. My God, she loved this man. Julia took a deep breath, savoring the moment, basking in the lovely feeling._

"Eloise is graciously making me something to eat," William cleared his throat, "since I missed breakfast."

His highlighting of his sleeping-off the hangover from the German spies' truth serum reminded her of one of its other side-effects – memory disruption, prompting her to needle him, "I see the drug is still affecting your memory, William…"

He looked at her, questioning.

She leaned over from her chair, close, inviting him to her. "I believe you forgot my morning kiss," she confided.

Now, William Henry Murdoch could give one outstanding kiss when he put his mind to it. And he intended for this one to be one of his best. " _Slow William_ ," he coached himself. He held her eyes, letting the beauty of her face sink down through his body, felt the warming it caused inside of him, and the tingling of excitement began to build between them. His fingers grasped a curl, turned and twisted it admiringly. The golden luster of his wedding ring caught the light, reminded of their bond. Then, his thumb brushing across her cheek, he listened for her breathing, the sharper inhalation of anticipation as he brought his lips closer. His own brain dizzying, she saw his long, black eyelashes close. _It was coming, the soft magic_. And then their lips finally touched… tender, so tender. Moving, bending her lips under his, pressing in harder, opening her to him, he pushed into her…

And her world soared and floated away. Having to breath – so dizzy, deliciously dizzy, his scent – only his in all the world, twinged the deepest part of her brain and spun her world. Enticingly luscious, that Chinese spice that comes with this man. _She wanted him – my God she wanted him._ Julia brought both hands up to his face, held him, surged into him, hungry. His stubble, he hadn't yet shaved. _My God_ , it hit her like lightning right in the womb. Her brain called his name, " _William…_ "

He broke off the kiss and she leaned to slide her cheek along his stubbled jawline, nibbled at his neck. Lifting her mouth closer to his ear, she whispered, "You haven't shaven."

William pulled back to see her reaction. He took a dep breath. "I'm thinking not to do so," he told her. He reached up, stroked his stubble with his fingers. "Perhaps a mustache… maybe a beard… or muttonchops."

 _Julia Ogden ran it through her mind. True, she found a bit of early morning stubble on him extremely arousing. Even this few days-worth of growth was quite nice… but…_ _ **hair**_ _, hair on his handsome, gorgeous face,_ _ **no**_ _. No, she didn't like that idea at all._

"William," she started, shaking her head at him, "I admit that both Katie and I…" she giggled at the notion of their three-year old daughter being so charmed by his _**whiskers**_ , "seem to find this more…" she searched for the word, "rugged look, somewhat irresistible…"

 _He could tell she did not like the idea of his mustache… but, she was undeniably sexually allured by his being unshaven and it sparked within him a lightning bolt shooting directly to his groin. He wanted this. There must be away to shave the hair to keep it a little too long – to make stubble…_ William's brain rushed to tackle the problem…

Protesting, Julia made it clear, "However, William," her eyes held to his sternly, "I like your handsome face the way it is. And I don't like the feel of hair when I kiss you…"

 _He was going to question how she knew she didn't like it… when he had never kissed her before with a mustache, but it punched a bit in his gut when he reminded himself that his Julia had kissed other men – at least one of whom –_ and it wasn't Dr. Darcy Garland _– had had to have had a mustache. And her point, yes, he definitely got it, was that she did_ _ **not**_ _like to kiss a man with a mustache. Unfortunately, he really did want one._

Suddenly, William had a flash of a memory… of Julia lifting her sexy leg up into the air and challenging him as to whether or not it was _his_ leg. He would use the same tactic now, give her a taste of her own medicine.

"Whose chin is this Mrs. Murdoch, I ask you?" he contested, jutting his chin out, _on some deeper level reminding himself of how_ _ **she**_ _often did this same gesture when she was being defiant. It rang a chord in his soul – igniting even stronger his love for her._

She, too, had made the same connection in her mind to the time William had been jealous after having caught her sharing her knee with a fellow male professor at the University. She ducked her chin and stared deeply into his eyes, scolding him for his deviousness. Such a cocky look took her face afterwards, however. _And there it was, that magnificent jutting of her chin_.

"Mine. All mine," Julia commanded.

Remembering the game, the way it had played out when the shoe was on the other foot, William replied, "Wrong answer, milady," much as she had done to him back then. _William Murdoch was so sure he had the upper hand._ But then…

His wife began to flirt. "Well, I think it's the right one," she said, her voice two octaves lower, as she stood, and pulled up her skirt and slipped into his lap…

 _And William's brain immediately began to swirl into soup, and his breath stole away, and his groin jolted to alert…_

Stroking her fingers into his dark hair, bringing her lips closer and closer to his, _so close he could feel them as they moved above his as she said it_ , she seduced, "The one answer you want to hear, I think. Truthfully, I think you love it. I think you love knowing that you are mine… You know William, when one is under the influence of truth serum…" she paused, breathed hot and slow, the rumbling pounding down over his eardrum, and then a taunting kiss, just under his earlobe, "they say what's on their mind…" her kisses traveled down his neck, tucked under his collar, "And you, detective, for you, making love to me is on your mind **a lot,** " she shoved back to better tease him, widening her eyes to exaggerate the magnitude of his obsession.

He wrinkled a corner of his mouth, admitting it. _Beautiful_ , how he blushed. Needing to clear his throat for his lust had seized his vocal cords, William suggested, "Perhaps Claire-Marie could watch the children… we could go upstairs…" He leaned into her eagerly, stole a kiss. Then, his mouth hovered over her ear to say, "It has been days, and days, and days… Well, I think it has been. What day is it anyway?" he suddenly found himself wondering.

A lonely warning tolled within Julia's core. In the back of her mind somewhere, she had been thinking it, but it hit her now, with an astounding, painful, clarity… he would not remember. William would not remember. He would not remember their bold, wild, crazy lovemaking as they plunged through the sky… He would not remember so many other things as well… " _Maybe, with a trigger, perhaps…"_

"William," Julia asked, "You said you remembered the Inspector saying something about a parachute?"

Confident, he nodded, "Yes. He said they would wait to collect it while you took me home."

" _Good, a start,"_ she thought.

Julia moved closer to the poignant time. "Do you remember anything else… from when we were in the crop field… or perhaps before that? Do you remember how we got there?" she led.

William turned his focus inward, backward. _Things were so fuzzy… a blinding whiteness around the edges. There were smells… cow manure…_

"Do you remember what you were wearing?" she tried for something specific for him to hold onto.

William Jr.'s voice popped into his head, " _Daddy, you're dressed like Uncle George!?"_ And his brain dug deeper, puzzling, " _A constable's uniform?_ " Wham, the memory landed.

William's eyes sparkled so as he blurted it out, "Yes! Um, I had Henry's tunic and George's trousers!" He looked so proud of himself for having had remembered.

Julia smiled. Still, he sensed her sadness. He asked, "What is it?"

"Quite a lot happened, William. You won't remember, just me," she replied. Julia pushed away the sadness. She reached up and stroked his face. Then, whispering close to his ear, she said, "Suffice it to say, it has not been days and days and days," before she kissed him.

"Ahem," Eloise cleared her throat from the dining room backdoor, jumping the couple apart. Julia smiled at her husband and dismounted from him to settle back into her own chair. On the serving tray with his brunch, Eloise had a second newspaper. The housekeeper was confident the detective would be happy to see it. It was a little tradition they shared, her buying him multiple papers so he could see all the different takes on a particular story.

"You were missed, detective," she said, as she placed the tray down onto the outdoor table in front of the Murdoch's. Eloise had perused the two newspapers earlier, and thus she knew that the _Toronto Gazette_ said nothing about yesterday's incidents with the German spies and the airplane and all, but that the one she was bringing out now, the _Star Ledger_ , it did, likely because of its association with the famous gossip columnist for the toffs, Madge Merton.

Realizing that her husband would probably be disappointed to find nothing in the papers, and also that he likely would not remember that Meyers had taken away the case, she hurried to explain the absence of news. "The papers don't have anything about all this, William. Um… the ransom note, the one we received with the film… it said…" _Oh, such a surge of the fear, the outright panic, with remembering it._ Julia cleared her throat, swallowed down the resurfaced dread. "No press. Um, the note threatened, warned, um… no press."

William saw the date, printed on the newspaper. "It's Thursday?" he doubted.

Barely audible, Julia commented, "Feels like fourteen Thursdays, if you ask me."

Quickly, Eloise agreed, adding, "It was quite a whirlwind."

"William, it was Eloise," Julia gave the older woman credit, "who figured out that you were being held in a place where they made Werther's hard caramel candies."

"It explained the ' _sweet smell_ ' on you," Eloise replied, "from the drawing board."

 _William remembered the smell with a sickening disgust in his gut, and with it a flood of other memories, the stink of his cell, being naked… and immediately he felt smothered in shame…_

 _Yet_ , his detective brain went down a different path, _he remembered no evidence that they were in a candy factory other than the smell…He reran through the foggy images… there were sounds, of big machines at times._ He looked up into Julia's eyes and wondered, "They made candy there?"

Julia's mind threw-up the image of, what she had been meant to believe – on some level _**did**_ believe – was her husband's, shot-dead, body… being dragged down into the bubbling, thick, sticky substance in the giant, steaming vat… And she remembered the white sheet… which had hidden the candy factory from view, hung up in the background. _Of course, he didn't know…_

Perhaps Eloise had done the same thing in her mind, remembering the description she had been given for where the detective was being held prisoner in the horrendous films, for she asked the doctor, an almost incredulous tone, "He doesn't know about the films?"

"Memory loss is a side-effect of the truth drug they gave him," the doctor explained. Then, Julia just smiled, a sad, accepting smile, and lifted the paper. Having had already read the _Toronto Gazette_ , she knew they did not even address the story, but now she saw that the _Star Ledger_ , had speculated and reported on it, despite Meyers' and the ransom note's insistence that the press know nothing. She read the headline aloud.

"As the Stars Had Foretold: She Saves Him from Air," Julia's voice spoke the storyline with a tinge of mystery and awe. Julia read William the story while he ate. It talked of Madam Celeste's astrological prediction, and the rumors that Detective William Murdoch had been abducted and was in grave danger, and how it was his wife, Dr. Julia Ogden, who had been the one to save him. There had been a farmer who had seen, and who had reported, a humongous parachute dropping from the sky… dropped out of an airplane. The paper speculated that that parachute had contained the detective and his wife.

She told William about all of it – the first film, in which he was depicted being held for ransom, the captors wanting the location of the secret, _they had thought it was Canadian_ , airbase… and how now they all knew it had really been an illegal American airbase on Canadian soil all along… And then the second film, _and Julia had found it so very difficult to say it to him_ , that that second film had shown a man… that the Germans had faked as being him – wearing his clothes, and his badge… being shot… dead.

William leaned over to look into her eyes. "Sorry," he said.

She cupped his face, told him, "I know you are… though you did nothing wrong." She gave him a kiss.

Lifting the paper back up, she lowered the pressure. "They don't know the half of it, William," she said. Then she thought it, _"Neither do you."_

 _William wondered if she was referring to the public not really knowing about the airbase behind it all… not knowing about the German spies, or the American or the Canadian ones for that matter… and not knowing they had used truth serum to try to find the airbase… and not knowing about all this intrigue as governments around the world work on military advancements…_

The children eventually noticed that their father was up, running to him for hugs and hellos. They sat with them under the umbrella for a while, then returned to their playing.

As Eloise picked up the tray later, she reminded, "Doctor, I believe the drawing board downstairs still has your…" The housekeeper stopped there. She did not know what to call the chalky laying-out of all the clues in all the different cases that the doctor had drawn out. But she knew that the drawing board had been instrumental in her finding him, in her saving him, for it was there that she had written it, the final clue, the _sweet smell._

"Oh yes, Eloise!" Julia exclaimed. "I do think William will like it," she insisted, already standing, reaching for his hand. "Could you… would you mind, Eloise, um…"

"I'd love to watch the young ones, doctor. You take the detective down and show him. Show him what you did, how you figured it all out," Eloise offered.

)

The two of them standing before the drawing board downstairs, Julia told him how she had modeled using the board after what she had seen him do so many times before. She had the first case – his abduction, on the left, then the next one, so soon after his first abduction, obviously connected, the shooting of Meyers' best spy, a man with the identification of a Mr. Wimmer in his pocket, along with the _Necco Wafers_ wrapper. He had been shot in the heart, the bullet hole in his clothing not lining up with the bullet wound in his body.

A memory raced through Julia's mind, powerful enough it forced her to take a step back. _When she had awakened on the plane, and Klink made her put her hands up above her head, pointing his 9mm handgun at her, well, she had known in that instant, that he would kill them both in the end. It had been in that moment – that connection to William having had figured out in the case of this same Mr. Wimmer, that the man had surrendered to the killer, and had been killed anyway, it was that realization that had convinced her to take the risks she had taken… to save him, to save them both_.

She glanced at William, acknowledging his concern. She pinched her lips together. There was so much… too much, she needed to tell him.

She put her eyes back on the board. She had continued the evidence notes, placing the evidence from the next case to the right of the killing of Mr. Wimmer. This third column consisted of the evidence in the case of Mr. Schiergen, a man who had previously been a jockey but who had taken a job working in Klink's German spy ring as an aerial photographer. His body had been found in the pond at the Golf Club, them speculating at first that he had been shot out of a cannon, but later discovering he had fallen from an airplane. The final column, the last case on the board, was that from the second time William had been abducted – the case of the killing of a man who had had a card naming him Adam Trappe. It had been exactly that, a damn trap to catch William. They had discovered that the man was actually Mr. Weimer. He had worked in the chemistry lab at the University. He had had traces of the German's truth serum drug in his flat – Devil's Breath.

William took his hand out of his trousers pocket, wrapped his arm around Julia at his side. "Impressive doctor," he said.

"I kept the clues from the two films in my head. Now that I think of it, I should have written them out too," Julia added, "As well as the ones from..." Abruptly, she stopped. The vacuum between them was palpable. She doubted. Perhaps she wouldn't tell him. It puzzled her, the conflict she felt about it. " _Too late now,_ " her inner-voice warned.

"Julia," William grabbed a firm hold of her shoulders, gazed urgently into her face, "What? What is it?" he pleaded with her to tell.

There was a single-note ringing in her ears. She would admit it. "William…"

He nodded. No matter what, he was with her. He would always be with her.

"I'm embarrassed," she warned him, her eyes begging him to understand, "I um… There was this woman, um, a gypsy woman from the circus. She uh, she came to your office. I was there…"

William's mind rushed, both forward and backward. He whispered its discovery, "Lady Minerva."

Relief spilled all over Julia's face. Her heart sang it. _He would understand. He would_.

She told him about the Tarot Card Reading, and how she followed the message from the cards – _**that she would save him, that they would have to be together for her to do so, that he would be behaving uncharacteristically foolishly, that she needed to trust her instincts… and the clues – like that everyone in the films was sweating, so it was a place that was hot, and that the man, who had been him when put under the hood, was NOT him when he was shot in the head, because that man lacked William's scar on his right forearm**_ …

And the Julia took William's arm, and unbuttoned his cuff, and pushed the sleeve up and she saw it there – the beautiful, magnificent scar. She swallowed, her emotions overwhelming her. She turned back to the drawing board, touched the chalky words, the final clue, on the board as she said, "And you had had a _**SWEET SMELL**_ on you that first time I found you, naked and dying, in our bed after they had… and tears formed in her eyes, and she wanted him to hold her, and somehow he knew that, and he scooped her up and held her close.

"I love you so much, William," she whispered in his ear.

And he heard her swallow back the tears.

His lips kissed her ear… then her mouth.

"Closer William. I want to be closer to you," she told.

And he stepped even closer to her, both of his hands firm and strong against her back, he pulled her into him, kissed her deeper.

"Closer," she whispered.

The wave of it overpowered them, love and lust.

"Make love to me, William," she whispered.

The storm hit. Buttons flew. Bodies, hard and soft, skin so delightful, the feel, the taste, the smell…

The sound as if from another universe, first only a distraction, then erupting into a startle, _Eloise… That's Eloise's voice… At the top of the stairs._

"Doctor Ogden. Detective. There's a man here to see you. Mr. Meyers," she called ahead, her first few footsteps on the top stairs. Then others, Meyers is coming down too!

The world still spinning, Julia could not help but giggle at the sight of William's wide, panicked eyes. _Impossible, being fully dressed in time._

Julia thought it, rather than said it, the moment her eyes met those of Terrence Meyers, in the doorway of William's workroom, the two of them with their shirts still unbuttoned, but their bottoms covered at least… " _My hair must look a fright."_

 _It did._

Tactful and wonderful and amazing as always, Eloise spoke as if there was absolutely nothing wrong. "Mr. Meyers here brought back some of the things of the detective's that were at the stationhouse… Your suitcase, that I had brought there for you, detective. And some other items the enemy spies had of yours too," she said.

 _Oh, but Terrence Meyers had every intention of milking the situation for all it was worth_. He looked them both up and down, gaping. _My God, that Julia Ogden is one good-looking woman_ , his groin reminded his brain.

William and Julia both got busy buttoning buttons. William tried to find, to grab hold of, and definitely to keep, the other man's eyes. _He didn't expect it – the gushing of jealousy rousing in his blood._

It was William who found words first. "Mr. Meyers," he said.

Eloise nearly ran in escape. _No one would ever know it, but she so loved every second of it, a huge smile on her face as she fled._

Meyers wanted a cigar. He placed the suitcase and other belongings down on the detective's worktable, reluctantly adding the aerial photographs to the pile. "I see he's finally gotten you back under that parachute, doctor," Meyers teased.

 _Of course, Julia Ogden would fire it right back at him._

"To be honest, he hasn't," she confided. _My God, her big, blue eyes were striking as they met his… despite the black-eye._ "Perhaps you can be quick," she jibed.

 _Every cell in Meyers' body wished with all its might that he were Detective William Murdoch._

A buttoned-down man by nature, _despite appearances at this moment_ , William Murdoch protested his wife's forwardness, complaining, "Julia, please," and scouring her with his best scolding expression.

 _Fiercely, however, William's deductive mind ran with the clues – Meyers just said, thus implying, that we made love_ _ **under the parachute**_ _, and Julia said earlier that it had NOT BEEN_ _ **days and days and days**_ _since we had made love… Could that be what she had been referring to, when she said that "they didn't know the half of it?" Did he and Julia make love under that parachute in the field after they had dropped out of the plane?_

Ironically, at that moment, Julia retorted to William's admonishment, saying, "William, you really have no idea…"

Dumbfounded, William's jaw hung wide open for a moment.

Exhaling smoke all around them, Meyers spared his friend, the mild-mannered Detective Murdoch. "I see you stuck to your routine Murdoch," he said, his eyes drawing theirs to the blackboard. "It all started with a drawing board, didn't it?" the Canadian government's head spy marveled at the course of events.

 _But, guilt captured Terrence Meyers once more as he remembered his actions, taking advantage of Murdoch's absence – the man so rarely taking time off from work at all, and this time for such a good reason – to adopt his two beautiful little girls. And he had taken advantage of that, using the opportunity to set Murdoch up as bait for the enemy spies by drawing out Rutherford's radioactive half-life formulas on Murdoch's board, then taking a photograph of it, making it obvious that it was the drawing board in Detective Murdoch's office that held said formulas, effectively setting Murdoch up as bait to use to catch the enemy spies… And then it happened, a rare event indeed, Meyers' heart touched his thoughts._ _ **He regretted it**_ _. The feeling awful, unbearable, spurred him into action._

Meyers turned to face the couple. _A more mischievous part of his mind noticed that they had managed to appear normally dressed so quickly._ He lowered the cigar as much as possible, _interesting, how lucidly he was aware in this moment of his usual use of the smoking object as a screen to hide behind, and how much he wanted_ _ **not to hide**_ _the truth right here and now._ Meyers cleared his throat and looked deeply into Murdoch's big, brown eyes. "Murdoch, I'm so sorry. It was a betrayal, my using you without your awareness of it, to catch these… enemies to Canada…" And then his patriotism, and his shields, seemed to pull back up, and the cigar lifted back to his mouth, and he took a puff and he added, "Though… we did get them in the end," he concluded, with a rise of his bushy eyebrow.

With that, Terrence Meyers tapped his tophat on his head and bid them farewell.

Alone once again, William said, "I'm sure that won't be the last we see of him."

Julia agreed, starting to look through the things Meyers had left on the worktable, "Yes. It is likely written in the stars… or in the cards, or what not."

" _Disturbing_ ," William thought, for a part of him believed she was right about the predestiny of all of this as well.

"Oh look, William," her excitement caught his heart, "Your old badge!" she declared holding the old, scarred up, metal badge into the light.

He took it from her, a big smile on his face. "Oh, I'm glad to see that!" he replied.

"And look! Your suit," she said. _So irresistible and sudden, the urge_ , she brought it to her face and smelled it. "It has the _**sweet smell**_ on it William!" she exclaimed, spreading the garment out for him to take a whiff. "See!?" she wondered, amazed.

William swallowed, _the disgust the odor stirred in him making him nearly retch_. Their eyes met… and she saw it. Julia placed the suit down and opened her arms to him. They held each other for a time, slowly rocking and soothing each other. After a while, with a sigh, they stepped apart. Better, they returned to their children upstairs. They had a delightful day home recovering from it all with their family.

)

Julia closed the bedroom door behind her. She had tucked the children in, William had showered and gotten ready for bed. She found her own image in the vanity mirror, the light low and golden, quite noticeable, her black-eye, yet, she had a beauty to her. A memory flashed, from their honeymoon, William using the window of the suite – the view had been… just a brick wall, but then he seduced her and she saw her beauty, really saw it… then, and now. She sighed and looked into her own eyes. She felt strong… and good, having come to see herself through his eyes. She reached up, found a hairpin.

Delicious, the way he slid in behind her. "Want to make some steam, Mrs. Murdoch?" his perfect voice asked enchantingly.

She turned to him, put her arms around his neck. "You shaved," she noticed.

He chuckled, laughing at his own joke, "I wanted to be kissed," he explained, as he guided her over to the closed bedroom door, and with a thud, he pinned her to it.

Her expression enticed him to his edges as she teased, "Oh, you are going get so much more than kissed, detective." And their world dropped away, as if from a phenomenal height, with the steamy, passionate kiss that followed.

Before the ability to speak completely abandoned him, William asked, out of breath, heart pounding in his chest, "Did we…" another kiss, her dress buttons pinched and opened, "Did we make love under that parachute…" more delectable kisses, her dress falling away, a moan, "… in that crop field?" Ravenous, he shoved her bloomers down.

His eyes darkened, her corset dropping to the floor. He soaked in, bathed in, the succulent feelings the sight of her naked body riled inside of him. William took hold of her, demandingly, by the hips, glided up the curves of her, to her breasts, cherishing, such a need to get his mouth on her that his knees threatened to buckle. He lifted her up, pressed her back, hard, against the door. Her round, bulbous breasts right before him, and he imagined it, _dropping to his knees, pulling her smelly, wet, womanness to him, tasting her, drowning in her…_

Her breasts heaved as she said, with a gentle giggle at first…

 _Him so taken away he couldn't remember what it was she was speaking to at first…_

"I believe you… um, we began," she swallowed, there would be an element of shock…

 _Oh yes_ , his breath barreled out of him, between his kissing and nibbling of her creamy cleavage, _making love under the parachute_ … he remembered.

"You, William, you… well you pushed inside of me… right after, I had tried to pull the rope, um, the one tied to the release-handle…" She gasped, _setting him on fire with need_ , as his warm, soft mouth took her flesh in, foggy her head, words lost. She fought for her thoughts, to better explain. "You were…" _Oh my God_ , the nipple, hard and round, luscious, luscious as he pressed it with his tongue, tight and hard, against the roof of his mouth. Breathless, she got the word out, "Insistent. You were insistent."

He released her flesh, cupped her other breast. It tingled in anticipation. William paused, questioned her, incredulous, but… busy, his own brain fighting against the gravity fall, "Me? I… I was insistent?" He managed to raise an eyebrow.

"Yes William," she thumped her head back against the wall, "It seems that the… "

"Mmm," she collapsed into an exquisite, groin-surging moan, as he put his mouth on her other breast, massaged and moved her nipple, pinching it, torturing it with his tongue…

He let her go, pushed his inquiry further, "What…" an effort at catching his breath, "What does it seem?" he asked.

He stood up taller, found her eyes. They were closed with her inner focus on the sensations winding and twisting and torqueing so scrumptiously deep inside of her. So gorgeous it almost floored him when she opened her eyes, her cheeks flush with hunger for him. She would tell him. _"What was it he was asking again? We were up in the plane… and…" Oh,_ she remembered.

"The German's drug… It had an aphrodisiac-like effect on you, William," she said, her voice scratchy, weak, her chest heaving up and down in the fight for oxygen.

"It made me… insistent?" he wondered again.

"Very," she added with a giggle. "It was… necessary, for me to agree, um to get you to stop pestering… to get you onto the platform. You, you… we started just after, we, um after the flaps and the handle… and then all the way down, but it was… um, well hard to focus, I guess, while we were falling." Her eyes to his. "After we hit the ground, we um, you, we… finished." She swallowed bracing for the news she would give him, "We weren't _**under**_ the parachute, William. We were out in the wide open, in broad daylight… and it was…" She smiled, her womb tweaked as the memory wrenched through her, and she clamped her lips together and nodded to him, "Good, William. It was extremely good."

Doubtful such an event could have occurred, an eyebrow raised, he asked to be sure, "We made love…"

"Bold, wild, passionate, desperate, crazy love William," she interrupted.

"In the middle of a farmer's field – where anybody could see?" he questioned.

" _Interesting,"_ she thought, _expecting to see his shame, but not…_

Julia stretched her toes downward to find the floor, pushed him back, like magnets in play, the force, the push and pull, only intensified the heat between them. A devilish look flooded her face. She had noticed he still had his pajamas on. Her eyes traveled him up and down. "Tit for tat, William. It's your turn," she lured.

He would oblige her, reached up to the buttons of his pajama top, pinched each one free. The fabric yielded, and Julia held herself at bay. _Oh, she already knew she would soon falter, that it would be_ she _… who became insistent._

Impatience cascaded her resolve. Desperate, forceful, she grabbed at the string of his pajama bottoms. She could see the bulge inside of them. _My God, she wanted to be ON him_. Her desperate breath surged out of her nostrils, raging her forward. His pajama bottoms hit the floor. _He was magnificent_.

Julia collapsed to her knees. In a rush she took him into her mouth, grabbed and kneaded his buttocks as she tugged him closer, deeper. The pleasure unbearable, William moaned, and the spin stole them, so sweet the dizziness all around.

William battled within the wind-tunnel of it all. He scratched and reached and grunted with the effort to pull back from the impending edge. _He would stop her. He would_. His hands clasped under her armpits with a jerk, and he lifted her off of him.

Wiping her mouth, he could smell himself on her, their eyes held tightly, locked to each other. Julia broke the electro-magnetic spell, looked away, giggled. Her eyes back to his, playful, she teased, "You… you taste good."

 _Oh, how she reveled in the worry that filled his face as she thought it, and he knew she would…_

"Well," every inch of her body prepared for her retreat, "We've already established that you, William, you are quite Willyum…"

"Oh, don't you dare say it doctor," he warned her, shaking his head.

Her eyes twinkled and the temptation dangled between them.

"Julia," he threatened, "You promised not to ever, ever…"

 _Oh, that chin of hers jutted out before she said it…_

"What did I promise… Willyummy?" she said, with a hearty shove pushing him back, and then taking flight.

He pursued her, tackled her, swept her off her feet, threw her down on the bed. Their eyes met and with that spark, the mood changed.

He climbed on her. Felt her belly press to his. So strong, so fierce, his arms tucked under her. Heavy, his weight, the hard, firm muscles of his chest pressing down into her softer, yielding, helpless, body underneath him. _He would… He would…_

William ruptured her, so delicious as he squeezed into her, deeper and deeper. She prayed she would feel his solid sweetness up into her throat, she wanted him so much. Wham, his first thrust. Wham, his next one, and the next, and the next. Pumping up the pressure, pushing and pulling, tighter and tighter the tension destroying her deeper and deeper into her womb. "Please William," her breath a wild, windy whisper in his ear, "Please… Don't stop. Please don't stop." And then, her breath caught, and floated, high, so very high, the fall from here would be staggering. The roll of it started, heat, delicious, delicious heat flowed outward, down to her toes as she burst over the edge.

She squeezed and pulled him so hard up into her, completely around him, rippling and luring him in, and he felt it, the guarantee. " _Oh yes_ ," his brain screamed as the roaring rumble began to surge. And William Murdoch touched Julia Ogden in that one perfect spot, and ecstasy, deep, deep pleasure, filled every atom to their very souls.

Lying in bed still riding the currents afterwards, Julia rested her head down on his chest. She stroked his muscles, and treasured his scars, the one made by the arrow near his heart, the one from the grazing bullet in Bristol, and the one from the fall from the fire escape on his forearm. All of these, they _both_ remembered.

There was a deep breath. Their conversation, light. "This is the last weekend that the circus is in town," she said.

"The children would love it. We'll go Saturday," his voice asked her if she agreed. He felt her nod, and take a firmer hold of him, hugging him tighter. "Maybe they'll have the man getting shot out of the cannon," his childlike hope filled the room.

 _She was about to liken it to when they had fallen from the airplane, connecting it all in a circle, somehow, with their finding Schiergen's body in the pond, and William having had tossed his golf clubs in there during a temper tantrum, reminding her how boyish he could be, and then how they had gotten to feel what it must be like to get shot from a cannon, when they had escaped certain death by deploying Pendrick's cargo-drop device, and they had made love as they fell through the sky… and he wouldn't remember the half of it… so she didn't say it._

"Mmm," she answered him, but she felt it in her heart, a lonesome, isolated sadness with being the only one who did know all of what had happened, for the monster's truth serum had whisked away his memories, stolen them, his memories never really existing at all, an evil spell cast by a drug called Devil's Breath.

" _It's Thursday?"_ he had asked earlier, seeing the date in the paper, William being surprised that so much time had passed, and she thought to herself how it was only his three-days-worth of growth of whiskers that could really offer any proof of it in the end. That and her black eye. And, now those very whiskers were gone too, shaved off, at her request. _Well,_ she thought, as sleep had just about taken her away, William's deeper breathing telling that he had already succumbed, _at least she wouldn't have to kiss him with a mustache,_ and somewhere far-off she started drifting as she chuckled, and she began to dream, a dream in which she saw herself watching William's vision, the one he had told her about long ago, when he had finally made it to Alberta, was dinosaur hunting, and he saw his future self, with a son, and a wife, and it was her… _and he had a mustache_ , she realized with a panic.

" _I guess you'll have to re-write the future then," she heard her fairy-godmother-like voice in the dream enlighten…_

 _And then Julia too, was whisked away._

)) ((


	18. 18: Gaining Perspective

Back to the Drawing Board_18_Gaining Perspective

) (

He woke her in the darkness of the middle of the night, with his touch. His breath, his familiar solidness behind her, a soft whisper of her name in her ear, "Julia," before his lips kissed her neck, and she felt, she heard, she was stirred by, his taking her scent in, deeply, slowly. His hands explored, ravished, squeezed, and rubbed… and she felt him growing harder… down lower.

She turned her head towards him, reaching, hunting for his mouth with hers.

"Shh," _an odd request from him_ , she thought, as he pushed against her shoulder, guiding her to turn the _other_ way – to roll over, bringing her facedown on the mattress, instead.

" _This is new_ ," the thought trumpeted in her brain, as her womb twisted and knotted into a sumptuous, tight, wanting. The sounds of the sheets as he mounted up on top of her, his weight, his covering her, stealing her breath. _Oh my God_ , how her head spun into swirling numbness as every ounce of blood rushed to her core, clamped down now underneath him, helpless, she was his.

"William," her voice raspy with desire only urged him on stronger. His legs between hers, urged, spread, opened her. His teeth, taking a hold of her flesh. _Oh my God_ , such a stunning plummet as he pushed into her.

Exciting, wild and fresh, abandoned, so hungry he began his rigorous thrusts before he had completely filled her.

 _She didn't remember ever wanting him to be deeper inside of her in her whole life_. She arched, tilted, prayed for him to push in further.

"Oh… Oh…" her vocalizations filled him with fierce frenzy.

Not long, floating like a downy feather at the crest of a wind, the weakest of whimpers into the night, as her yearning became more than she could bear.

 _It couldn't be one more second until the impending explosion, impossible, impossible her need…_

Wham, the torrential wave, it had threatened for only a second before it hit, and her eruption gushed outward, and her body rushed to milk each drop of the sweetness, loving _each... and… every… drop… of… this… delicious… man_.

Julia's moan roared into William's brain, surging him to her with all his might, forcing him to thunder into her with a power that took his very being. There was nothing, nothing in all the world, but her… _so close, so close…_

 _How she wished she could hold him_ , _pull him tighter into her arms_ , as his rhythm stretched and he drove deeper, and longer, so lusciously firm, and hard, and strained with desperation, into her, with the burning of William's pleasured moan into her ear, and he soared over the summit.

Heaving, exhausted, totally expended, they laid together in the slowing spinning of the chasm, still privately entwined, him above her, heavy and still.

"Mmm, that was good," his winded and parched voice, the hot breeze of it in her ear, scratchy, and heavenly.

His hurried, strong, breaths rumbled like a pumping machine rocking her brain as he recovered on top of her, she recovered underneath him, from the effort of their mad lovemaking. Eventually recuperating sufficiently to move, to roll off of her, William took her in his arms.

 _Exactly where she was meant to be_ , she nestled her head on him, soothed and elated by the thumping of his heart so near. No need to do anything more than to be. Soothed and spent, sleep took them both away.

)

 _There were birds tweeting_ , she heard the cheery sound before she opened her eyes, knowing she would be greeted by the low, golden, morning light. Julia was… had been, sleeping on William. His breathing, so sound and deep, she knew he was still so. The balmy glowing pleasantness throughout her entire body reminded her of their middle-of-the-night sexual excursion, and she felt her own smile stretch across the skin of her husband's metronomic, lifting and falling, chest. She wondered, about the novel _approach_ he had initiated – had taken with her in the darkness of the night – and reasoned it was likely spurred by his imaginings while locked away in the tiny cell when he had been held captive, and drugged and fearing his death would soon come.

Truly, such blustery and turbulent sex had been thrilling and fulfilling, but she longed to be more " _intimate_ " with him, aching for the reassuring sights and touches and smells and tastes, rhythms and moans and sounds, that were wholly familiar and fitting with their usual connection… She wanted to _know she had him back_ , to know it _in her bones_. The image suddenly bared before her soul, the memory of first discovering _William's tree._ Such a love as theirs was astounding, and she crucially needed to touch him once more.

Tenderly, but assuredly, she woke him, let him know her desires, took him in hand, roused him, climbed on him, started their union, rocked and swayed and pumped her jiggling, rippling, moldable body above him, onto him, sweetly and melodiously surrounding him, then lie down on his chest to be rolled over and covered, and made love to. And there was no doubt, as he sturdily thrust her closer and closer to the edge, that it was love, as his promises of feeling so pounded and steamed into her ear.

 _He loved her with every atom, every breath, every moment of his life… and she he._

Their ultimate touch, perfect, they lie satiated, waiting for the little footsteps and knocks of their children at their bedroom door. Thoughts of the outside world seeped in. It was a workday. The case, and it had been a wild one, a three-ring circus in every sense of the word, this thorny and perilous case had been taken away from them again by Mr. Meyers, but there would be remnants, things left to be attended to and put in order.

Not long, the tiny knock came, followed by the hugs and the kisses and the rowdiness of play that often accompanied their Murdoch-family mornings. Soon afterwards the routines of a workday morning fell into place. Claire-Marie arrived and attended to the children while their parents dressed.

Just his tie, vest, shoes and jacket to go, William pinched the top button of his shirt in place and returned the collar into its downward position. _Often a bit of a concern_ , he glanced to his wife checking on her progress. He had figured out long ago that women had much more to do to dress than men. He had already helped with her corset, and he would offer more help if need be to keep them from being late… well, lat _ **er**_.

" _Good_ ," he thought, noticing she had already finished her hair and was nearly done, _merely the accessories left_ as she slipped her second arm into a favorite summer blouse. He watched her tilt closer to the mirror, reach up and find with her fingers his bitemark on the top of her shoulder, where it met her neck. Blood drained out of his head, stood him there, heavy and stuck.

" _I'll need to change the blouse_ ," she planned in her head.

His motion in the reflection, behind her, drew her eyes up to his face – _he was concerned_. She straightened, turned to meet him as he approached, his eyes fixed and focused down on the black-and-blue. _Regret flowed through him with a sickening jolt_. His fingers, gentle, slipped over the raised, warm, mark, stopping her from removing her blouse further.

She saw his self-reproach, anticipated his inevitable apology.

"Now, detective, don't you dare feel sorry for this. Do you hear me? You know…" her eyes dashed away with a hint of modesty, then returned, warm and strong, "Well, I believe you know, how much I enjoyed it too…"

Her husband swallowed, tried to accept it, to believe it.

"William – truly. Make an effort to remember it. It was titillating and… wonderful. I just need to wear a different blouse is all… to be decent," she worked to reassure him, returning to the task, leaving her arms behind her as the blouse found the floor.

Seemingly affixed on making himself suffer the guilt of having caused her hurt, he cupped her face, his hand warm against her petally soft skin, and he brought his thumb to ride carefully over her black eye. It was badly swollen, though her attempt at concealing it behind some of Oscar Ducharme's makeup had done well, all the hues of the bruise now masked as her own her natural skin in color.

He saw it on her face, braced slightly in response to it… a frown.

"William, would you not battle a fire-breathing dragon for me… steal into its dragon's lair, fight it head on if need be?" she asked.

His chocolaty brown eyes changed focus from the bruise on her body to meet her strikingly beautiful eyes, sinking into her. _So gorgeous, this man, the touch of him bathing her soul._

"I would," he gave with a nod and a clamping of the lips.

Confident she had a winning argument, she pushed on, "And do you not believe, detective…" she placed her hand, warm and tender, above his heart, firmly down on his chest, melted him with her big blue eyes, "that women are men's equals?"

"I do," he gave, the sudden scratchiness in his voice giving away the success of her enchantment.

"Then give me my valor, William… my battles for you," she requested, "I'm rather proud of it, actually. Like a warrior mark," she wiggled seductively in front of him.

The switch in perspective happened inside of him in that very moment, and his brain flashed with a cascading flood of – _what was it really – memories,_ a part of him wondered? First, _he saw her_ , just shadows, fuzzy silhouettes, _Julia engaged in a mortal struggle with a one-eyed beast of some kind_ … Then another, _he was watching her as he lay on some sort of box, or a small stage, waiting for her – they felt so high up, as if they were up in the clouds, he sensed. And she wore a tattered, extremely sexy, dress, and she was fiddling with knots and ropes, and he saw the curves of her calves on her bare legs as she moved about, and William's groin wanted her with an intense urgency all of a sudden, wanting only to touch her and squeeze her and taste her and be thrusting inside of her…_ and then, the memory, this one solid and close, _the delectable motion under the sheets from last night, the smells… her flesh in his teeth and the weak whimper she had made just before her ecstasy,_ replayed in his ear, tumbled downward into his heart…

"You were gallant, milady. And I thank y…"

She boldly swept him into a kiss.

The astounding power of their love could shine so brightly it would draw the light from all the stars and the Sun and the Moon in the sky when it flared, leaving them spiraling within the vortex of it all.

 _It could, but… the reality of the outer-world reminded_ , with the pounding pattering of footsteps, those of a child, out in the hallway, Claire-Marie calling out instructions from the bathroom after the young one, the sweet, high voice of William Jr., yelling back a reply.

Their kiss broke off. Julia's eyes focused down to his chest, the top button on his shirt she had just undone, her fingers currently grasping another a bit lower down. She tilted her head, and considered continuing, then released a fluttered giggle, "We are supposed to be putting the clothes on, William, not taking them off," she suggested, her eyes so mesmerizing and alluring as she glanced into his with the statement, meant to tease, but having the effect of stepping them apart.

"Of course. You are right," he replied with a charming bow.

They separated, William already re-buttoning his shirt, Julia hanging up the rejected blouse with its more revealing neckline, choosing another one, which buttoned around the neck, to replace it.

There was talk of the day ahead. Planning for paperwork related to the case and lunch, the children for the weekend, and tonight…

Both fully dressed now, about to step out and face the day, Julia told him, "Oh, William… I uh, I won't be home… I'll need to eat dinner late tonight. I offered to take one of Professor Carruthers' classes this afternoon…" _Perhaps it was unavoidable,_ she thought to herself _, the mere mention of Leo's name permanently being accompanied by the flashes of memories of William seeing her show the other man her bare leg. William so beautiful and heartbreaking standing there in Leo's doorway, stunned, with a bouquet of flowers for her in his hand…_ She pushed it aside and explained, "He covered all of mine this week."

The reminder jolted him with the concrete realization that she had just gone through the week from hell.

His sigh, long and strong and deep, drew her eyes to him. He walked up to her, pushed her into the closed door at her back. He would not let her go out there without addressing it. He finally asked her, with a sincerity that rocked her soul, "Julia… Are you alright, after all of this?"

 _The high-pitched hum began to string in her ears. Julia Ogden swallowed, so many emotions surging within her, threatening to overwhelm her ability to cope_. She too, sighed. William waited for her. He could see it in her eyes, she would drop stoicism, she would stand before him now, raw and opened.

"I'm utterly exhausted, William… weary from worrying," she glanced into his eyes, now she would admit the worst of it, heartfelt and true, "and _grieving_ … And I'm more terrified than ever that I'll lose you…"

He wrinkled a corner of his mouth. _He was sorry_.

Deep in the recesses of her mind the tiny sound played, _the unfolding of his letter to her_ , plucked from his journal in the dim oil-light of the middle of the night, when she could not sleep and she thought him dead, murdered, shot in the head, and his body dumped in vat of swirling acid… Amazing, she heard his voice as she imagined, remembered, reading his words written in his hand on the paper, " _And as YOU are my everywhere, and my everything, I wonder, could I survive without being WITH you. And I know I just couldn't bear it, and I'm so sorry my love, for now it seems that you must…"_

Tears welled in Julia's eyes. She would need to tell him that she had read his letters, that she knew that _he knew how hard it had been for her_. She would tell him, later.

She lifted her eyes to his. "And I'm elated, William, to have you… that you are here, and for the most part, you're fine."

"For the most part?" his raised eyebrow questioned her.

She took a hold of his tie and pulled him closer. "I think the overuse of the German truth serum may have made you a little… loopy," she teased.

"Loopy?" he wondered.

"Don't worry, detective, I'll watch out for you," she promised in a whisper, her lips enticingly close to his lips now.

"You've proven that, doctor," he said, and then finally touched her lips with his.

Their kiss broke off, and Julia turned her attention to admiring his badge. It was the preferred of the two Toronto Constabulary shields – the older, more scarred, one, the one Meyers had brought back after they had recovered it from the makeshift German spy prison in the candy factory. She felt his eyes down on her, and she released a big sigh with the sensing of his curiosity and his worry. _"Tell him,"_ the guiding voice inside her pushed.

"The blood on the badge they sent us with… the film… It matched yours," she said, almost devoid of emotion.

His voice close. A tender kiss to her ear. "Bad luck, that," he said.

"It was the one hurdle I most faltered at," she disclosed.

"But you got over it, hmm?" he reminded.

"With the help of others," she said, her voice misty and trailing off with her memories.

There was a shift, a change in her, her figure solid and strong as she met his eyes. "William, you should know I found your letters… the ones you left in your journal. I read them William," she told.

"Oh," he said.

Suddenly in a rush to explain, for she had broken their pact, she said, her voice squeaky with the stress, "I was going to write… in my journal. I didn't know for sure… And my gut told me it wasn't so, but I… I thought… I thought it might be true, and so… I thought maybe you were d…"

 _It always amazed him that her face could look so beautiful, with her eyes glossy and pinkened, by oncoming tears._

"And so, I know…" her crying overcame her momentarily, and she needed to take a breath, "I know how much you love me, William, and that you know how much I… suffered…"

His hands cupped her face. "Shh," he begged, for her pain was breaking his heart.

Julia swallowed and finished her message. "You know how much I _will_ suffer… one day, or perhaps it will be you who suffers the loss of me, but we've grown in love so weaved together now, that parting… one dying and leaving the other to live on alone, it will be unbearable…"

"And yet, it must be borne, for we have no choice," he said with the most winsome of tiny smiles. He pulled her close and told her softly in her ear, "And I would suffer it a thousand times more for even one more minute with you."

And she cried in his arms for a time.

The wave of it passed and he stepped back and wiped away her tears.

There had been so many friends who had helped her – helped them. She wanted to throw a party to celebrate his safe return and to thank them. For once, no resistance from him even in the face of entertaining, William wholeheartedly agreed. Sunday, they decided, catered… so that Eloise and her husband could attend.

) (

The four men sat together sharing a drink in Inspector Brackenreid's office, although, thanks to Murdoch, not all of the cups were filled with alcohol. The men worked to debrief the whole of their experiences involved with the myriad of cases spurred by Colonel Klink's enemy German spy-ring. James Pendrick had stopped by, wanting a deeper sense of closure. The men were free to talk openly, for Terrence Meyers seemed to have been telling the truth when he claimed to have other urgent matters of national security to attend to elsewhere.

The day at work had filled William with the confidence and poise and sense of effectiveness that was familiar to him, and he was grateful for it. "Well, I heard from Julia before she left for the University that she too had disposed of, and filed away, any evidence and papers from all of the morgue's activities with the three bodies," he added his wife's part of the business into their concluding thoughts.

The mentioning of the number of murdered men sent the group's heads reeling, each one of them working backwards to remember each of the three victims.

Crabtree spoke of the most recent aloud, revealing his mental path, "Dr. Ogden and I actually identified the last victim, sir," he said looking to the detective, "A Mr. Weimer. The clue you left us… um the cigarette butt, sir… and the University colors from his tie… Quite clever was it not, Adam Trappe?" he suddenly asked, demonstrating his usual looseness of connections and boyish wanderings.

Murdoch shook his head with the memory, feeling the sting from it in his teeth and gums seeping down to his core as he fought a repulsive gasp. "That it was, George," he replied, bracing against the rising up of the memory of kissing Julia goodbye – with Klink and his guns-aimed-at-her-head men in the shadows.

Rushing to the next victim, Crabtree leaned forward, tilting his glass to the others, "And Mr. Shiergen… the man in the pond at the Golf Club…"

The Inspector piped in, "The one you thought was a bloody circus performer," he chuckled to Pendrick, "James, you'll never believe it. They thought the stout little man had been shot into the pond from a cannon." He chugged down his scotch, stood to get another.

William offered the first victim's name up with a feeling of regret. "And months ago, the first one. We'd found the name Wimmer on him. Did we ever get his real name?" he questioned out loud, knowing they had not. The man had been a Canadian spy, had tried to protect William the first time he had been abducted, had died performing his duties.

Brackenreid topped off the two other men's glasses with scotch. He had caught Murdoch's gloom, his voice showing it as he said, "A dirty business this spying."

Quiet overtook them.

Pendrick broke it, asking, "So, there's no more evidence of any of it?"

"Nope," Murdoch responded, "No sign of anything related to it. All cases written up as something other than what they actually were. Even the press seems to have let it all go."

The Inspector took a deep breath and all eyes turned to him. "Well…" he said, walking back to his desk. He opened a drawer, took something in his hand as he walked over to Murdoch. "Not everything. I found this in the crashed German plane," he said. The Inspector placed the round, glass monocle in William's hand.

Both Murdoch and Pendrick recognized it immediately, a sickened look stealing onto their faces. The two fellow captives looked to each other. William swallowed, leaving it opened for Pendrick to explain first.

"That was Colonel Klink's," he declared solemnly.

"Despicable man," William's words quickly followed. "Proof he was in the plane, I suppose," William added.

"Proof we shouldn't have," the Inspector highlighted. He took the monocle back, returned it to the drawer.

George's excited and childlike voice replaced the vacuum hiding away Klink's monocle had left. "Thrilling really, wasn't it though. Full of enemy spies and circus acts and radioactive weapons and abductions and airplanes and aerial photographs and films and plots and even candy…"

Each man tried for a moment to step back and see the whole thing from a wider perspective, to take it all in.

George commented, "It reminds me of that spy novel… the one where the government friend ropes his neighbor into helping him figure out what's happening on some island… And it's German spies trying to take over the world."

William remembered the book, seeing the connection immediately. Julia had been reading the novel… They had read parts of it to their children. "By Childers… The Riddle of the Sands: A Record of Secret Service," he informed the group.

"Yes. Yes sir, that's it," George went on. "I see you, detective, as the government man… and Mr. Pendrick, you would be the man dragged into the whole thing by the detective here," he suggested.

The Inspector argued, "No Crabtree, it makes more sense if… Well, that bloody Meyers, surely he would be the government man… I mean bollocks! Think of what he did setting Murdoch up as bait… using his blackboard like he did and sending it out into that treacherous… spy world of his."

"I did get roped along as it were," Pendrick put in his two cents. He looked to William, "I mean, there are no hard feelings Murdoch, believe me, but as far as I was concerned, we were just working on inventions… my cargo-drop parachute mechanism and your Goggle Earth device…"

William remembered, then, with a twinge of guilt, that he had requested they search for the buildings in the photographs he had found at Schiergen's flat, when he and Pendrick were still up in the plane after they had made the drop of gifts at his house. In the end, it had been _because the two of them had seen the airbase_ that the German's wanted them, captured them and interrogated them, ransomed them, and nearly killed them. William rubbed his brow. _Julia, if she were there, would have known he was feeling stressed._

"You're right," Murdoch said, 'And I'm sorry for having brought you into this whole mess."

Brackenreid took exception, saying, "Come on now gentlemen, everybody knows Klink's spies, and many others it seems, bollocks, even the Russians… they were already watching you James. It's rubbish to think it was Murdoch's fault you ended up where you did. Who's to say they wouldn't have captured you even if you didn't ever see that airbase."

Pendrick raised his glass to the men. "True, Tommy," he yielded. Then he chugged down the rest of his scotch and slammed the empty glass down on the desk. "It was an adventure indeed. And I can think of none finer than you gentlemen that I would want to go through such an ordeal with. It has been an honor… and a job well done in the end."

"Here! Here!" the round of men agreed.

Standing to take their leave, the detective added a thought relative to the spy novel aspect of their most recent cases. "I do believe we missed the most important thing though, about the book," he offered, "The protagonist in the story lacked a wife."

"Well, whether he did or not, it would not have mattered. There's no other like your wife detective," Pendrick said.

"You can't deny that now, can you Murdoch," the Inspector said with a slap to his back.

"No sir. I can't indeed," he concluded, happily, very, very happily.

) (

It had been a tight fit, getting the whole of the Murdoch family into the one, single car of the Ferris Wheel, but the circus worker in charge of the ride was an eager and friendly type, and he seemed proud of the accomplishment. Soon stopped, at what seemed to be the top of the whole world, as the man battled down at the bottom of the huge ride to empty and then refill another car, William and Julia shared a contented look. Their children were starry-eyed by the adventure.

It was at that moment that Madge Merton, the famous gossip columnist of the toffs for the _Toronto Daily Star Newspaper_ , standing down on the ground below the ride, ordered her photographer to flash the picture. She could see the headline in her mind – something like, _The Murdoch's Finally Take to the Stars_. In the article, she would connect what she had learned of two recent events… those involving an airplane crash and the holding of Detective Murdoch captive in a candy factory, to the world-renowned psychic's, Madam Celeste's, recent astral predictions that Detective Murdoch's wife, the thrilling Dr. Ogden, would save him from the air. She believed the woman had done just that recently, and she wanted desperately to garner the proof she needed to print the story.

"Perhaps this one will end up framed on their wall as well, Frank," Mrs. Merton said, remembering that she had been told by a number of her sources that the photograph she had had taken of the Murdoch's walking in the Park for an earlier article – the one on Fibonacci rabbits, of all things, had been quite beautifully displayed on their living room wall when these same sources had been in attendance at the Murdoch's Anniversary Party, and Madam Celeste had been Mrs. Merton's gift to them. Mrs. Merton waited, planning on ambushing the couple once they were back on solid ground. She had gathered a great deal of information, she had even been to Patterson's Candy Factory, where she believed the detective had been held captive. Frank had taken photographs there. Unfortunately, the most clandestine part of the story – the airplane crash and the rumored secret airbase, had yielded absolutely no proof. She hoped to somehow get it out of the detective himself, or perhaps his wife.

"That was fun, Daddy," William Jr. declared, the first on the ground as the others departed from the ride.

"Can we do it again?" Katie asked.

"Perhaps," Julia said, "But there are so many other things. Don't you want to try them too?"

Lingering somewhere in his subconscious, William felt profoundly grateful to be able to plant his feet back on terra firma. The reason danced up into his mind momentarily, a flash, _being in an airplane, bullets flying, the gravity surging as the plane began falling?_ It was all still so unclear. With effort, he tried to pull back from being thrown off-kilter. Wobbly, on the periphery, William spotted her in the background of the circus crowd – Madge Merton.

His body language calling her to him, Julia stood from her crouched huddle with the children. William reached down and lifted Chelsea into his arms. He tilted towards his wife, whispering loudly in all the circus noises and told, "Over by the Snakes Tent, Madge Merton."

"Oh my," she replied, stealthily taking a peek for herself. "She's headed this way," she prepared him.

"We shouldn't talk to her, Julia. Meyers made it clear…"

"Mrs. Merton!" his maddening wife called across the crowd to the woman, repressing a giggle when she looked back and saw William's clenched jaw and worried face.

"Dr. Ogden," Madge Merton returned the greeting, "And Detective Murdoch! And I see you brought your beautiful children to see the circus." The older, well-dressed woman focused her attention to the two older children standing next to their parents. "Do you like the circus? Did you like riding up so high? It looked like you were up in the stars," she declared.

It always touched Julia, and William too, the way their children would glance for reassurance from them, before addressing someone they did not know. Julia found it starkly obvious, somehow in this lighting, in this situation, how much William Jr. looked like William.

"Yes mam," William Jr. answered her. "You could see everything!" he elaborated, his dark eyes twinkling and wide.

"Oh, I very much like it when I can see everything," Mrs. Merton replied, and William and Julia glanced to each other, each nodding, for there was a double-entendre in her message… they both had gotten it.

Julia gasped some air, changing the subject. "I saw a man selling candy apples, children. He had two kinds, I think…" she proposed their next stop.

 _William felt immediately nauseous with the thought of the smell of the sticky, red-candy and brown-caramel, covered apples._

He winced internally, and then wrinkled his face apologizing for questioning her. "I think they might get sick if they eat such things, and then go on more rides," he offered, relieved to hear the logic in his own statement. "Maybe it would be better…"

"Yes. Daddy is so smart," Julia said, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "Treats after the rides are through…"

Madge Merton interrupted, "I was hoping to speak with you about… well about following up on my latest story," she got right to the point.

 _To appease the woman, William figured he would give her something, and every bone in his body wanted to keep Julia away from her, for he dreaded the thought, but he believed his wife had become enamored by all the astral predictions and such, and he felt it best that he handled Madge Merton and her interview himself._

He handed their youngest to his wife. "Julia…" he began, his eyes glancing between her and Madge Merton. He would change tactics, dropping his attention down to Katie and William Jr. "Do you know your Mommy is an expert at shooting a bow and arrow. I saw a booth when we first came in. I bet your Mommy could win you some prizes, if you ask her," he deviously urged.

The hopping began immediately, peppered with cries of "Please Mommy! Please!" and the Murdoch family, minus their father, headed off to clean the circus out of quite a few of its trinkets and trifles.

"I'm all yours," William turned to the columnist and offered.

An experienced and accomplished columnist, Madge Merton knew, and of course the detective did too, that much of the success of an interview was reaped from sharing some of what you already knew. And so, she told him right off, that she had been to the candy factory where he had been held captive. She believed she observed him brace with the news. _Strange, though, for usually her noticing such a thing exhilarated her with the hunt, told her she was about to make a great scoop, but his time it had only seemed to pull on her heart strings._ _She had always had a soft spot for this couple_ , she warned herself, _particularly the male half of it…_

The detective cleared his throat and said, "With all due respect, Mrs. Merton, I doubt you have any evidence to support such a claim." He had been informed that Meyers' men had completely cleaned out all the related areas, the candy factory, the American airbase, the crash-site, all were said to be devoid of any indications of the cloak and dagger goings on that had occurred in these places.

"It is true detective, it did seem the candy factory had been swept clean… not even a dust-bunny in the place," the older woman answered him, _considering making a joke about dust bunnies and Fibonacci rabbits._ Yet, she saw that he sensed it – the _but_ …

William's mind began to race. " _What could she have?"_ he asked himself… and he would have gotten there on his own, for it was on the verge of his thoughts when she said it…

"I found it, detective… Your tree," she told, "It had been painted over, but you scratched it into the wall and ceiling so when bright lights are shone on it, it was quite clear. I have photographs…" _Oh, such shaking underneath her as she watched his upset build._

His eyes glassy and beautiful, his head shaking side-to-side in denial, he couldn't help himself, he fell to pleading. "I ask you, please… please do not put it in the paper. It's private," he said, in the end gritting his teeth with the bitter helplessness of it all.

The force of the pull on her to give him the relief he needed against her own professional ruthlessness, tugged and battled inside of her, rendering her a bit sputtering herself as her head took to a swimming dullness and she blurted out the only thing that came to mind. "Private?" she would debate it, "But it is drawn on a public wall, in a huge candy factory," she emphasized the wall-and-ceiling magnitude of his mural by widening her arms out to her sides and looking up to the skies.

"In a small room that was my cell, where I was locked up for days… and I thought I was going to be killed," William pushed back. Tears threatened in his eyes, for he was exposed and powerless once again, and desperate. The feelings triggering a deeper association to his being naked and terrified and destitute in that very same cell, less than a week ago.

 _A part of the columnist's mind trumpeted the win – for he had admitted it was true. But another part of Madge Merton clung to the romance of her story. Perhaps she could help him see the magnificence of what he had done in carving that beautiful testament to his love for his wife and family at the time of his deepest despair. In all her days, she could not remember a sight touching her as the sight of this man's etching of that tree had touched her. She could empower him with it, rescue him from his suffering, and have her story too._

"Every woman in the world would wish to be so loved, so loved as the woman for whom that tree was drawn, especially if it was drawn by a man like you, detective," she suggested.

His voice low, he said, "I'm sorry they can't be, but…"

 _Perhaps another tack_ , she thought, _the idea jumping into her head_. "It would counteract the stories about your beating your wife – Dr. Ogden has quite a black eye there…"

"I didn't…" he rushed to defend.

"Of course not. And our story will tell all the world that," she argued, thinking she had him now.

"Yes, that's good," he nodded, "But without the tree." He held her eyes, his brown handsome ones big and wide and hopeful and resolute.

The writer smiled. "Very well, detective," she gave him, "without the tree." She watched his coveted chest rise and fall with his relief. "But, what would you have me say… was the cause of her black eye, then?" she asked him.

William knew Madge Merton had already reported on the filed reports that a farmer had claimed to see a parachute fall from an airplane up north, near York. He gave her that she could write that an anonymous source claimed to have spied the couple kissing and otherwise canoodling in a crop field, under a small collapsed balloon, near where that parachute had been reported to have landed. She could speculate that it was the impact from when the parachute had landed – hitting the ground hard, which had resulted in Dr. Ogden's black eye, thus not giving away that Julia had been struck by the evil German spy Colonel Klink. Such a report would be believable, and would fit to reality, _he gave with a delicious blush_ , and would involve the elements of sex and scandal he knew the woman craved.

The two separated after that, figuring it would be best not to be seen talking together, avoiding suspicion that he was her "anonymous source."

)

It took a while to find Julia and the children. As a matter of fact, it was only a tweak in his gut upon sighting the gypsy woman's name among the list on the placard above the tent that attracted him to the right place at all.

"Lady Minerva," William's voice knowingly uttered from behind them as the woman in the muumuu sat reading the cards in front of his wife and their three children. An air of pride swept over him as he noted the abundant toys and stuffed animals strewn about the area. _Julia Ogden is good with a bow_ , he rewarded himself for his insight and for having won such a remarkable woman _._

"Detective Murdoch," the circus psychic returned his greeting. She paused her Tarot Reading and said, opening her arm wide, inviting him in, "So I see you made the sacrifice that was foretold, detective. Such gifts in the end."

There was a knowing and warm look shared between Lady Minerva and his wife, a connection that made William both happy and worried in the same instant. He made a quick decision, _admit to nothing._ _But,_ he reminded himself, _he had already told Julia of Lady Minerva's long ago fortune readings for him, and Julia had told him of the gypsy's help in finding him_. It had the effect of relaxing him somewhat.

William Jr. and Katie dashed to him to receive a hug. Both of them up in his arms, he felt that Lady Minerva was right about the _gifts_. A burden seemed to lift off his shoulders.

"I did," William answered plainly, _about the sacrifice of which the gypsy psychic had just spoken, the one he had made to be with the love of his life, and he marveled at how extraordinary it was that it had been answered by the blessing of these very children in his arms._

But then suddenly, _his heart thumped to alert_ , for his wife wore that face… that expression she had whenever she was about to tease him.

"William," she began her fun, "I have asked the Cards if you will have a mustache in the future…"

 _So amazing, the tantalizing this woman could bring him, his groin throbbed, his heart pounded, he filled with dread, and he stood there stupefied and helpless_.

In response to it, his wife giggled.

Katie reached over and stroked her father's cheek. "Your whiskers, Daddy," she declared, apparently disappointed to find them still missing.

He swallowed. _It was obvious, Lady Minerva was loving this too._

The gypsy woman drew her eyes back down to the cards laid out between herself and Julia. Without looking up she explained, "It seems there has been some recent debate as to the question posed to the Cards. The man involved…" _Oh, how she reveled in it_. "He has had his own visions… Such an insightful man as yourself, detective, I should not be surprised that you, too, can see the future," Lady Minerva added as a side-note. She went on, "In his two earlier visions of his future, he had seen certain facts, some of which have come to be true subsequent to the visions, lending support to the power of his talents, others have yet to be seen."

Lady Minerva looked to the boy in William's arms. She would offer up the specifics. "Your son will be the age you predicted he would be in 1912… And of course, you are married to the woman you saw in your visions. She is his mother," her eyes glanced at the woman in front of her…

 _William swore he saw a wink…_

Lady Minerva's eyes left Julia's face, returned to the unturned Tarot Cards on the table.

Julia too spoke without looking at him, her gaze fixed down on the Cards. "So we will soon know, William," her voice quivered with the thrill of the impending zing she was about to fire his way, "whether or not future William will be doing much canoodling."

With that, she fell into a giggle, and Lady Minerva couldn't help herself, she broke too, joining in the laughter, for the gypsy fortuneteller was wise, and she had seen the doctor's ploy, recognized the whole mustache-issue as the tool it really was, a tool to be used to keep the push and pull, the strain, the tension, the play, between them. To that end, the gypsy woman decided it would be better that the answer to the question of the state of the detective's future facial hair be left unread.

"It will not matter… what the Cards say," the psychic told. She stood.

" _An odd thing for her to say_ ," William thought. He looked to Julia, seeing her surprise as well.

Uncommon for her to do so, Lady Minerva had decided to share her thoughts on the art of fortunetelling. Perhaps it was because this couple was so intensely fascinated by the ways of science and the workings of the world around them that she was inclined to do so. There was a brightness that electrified her in their presence, and it rendered her magnanimous and philosophical all at once. Lady Minerva's musings were long and intriguing. Her lecture seemed to hold the attention of even the youngest Murdoch. Perhaps it was the way she spoke, so full of awe, and with a mystifying sense of all-knowingness.

"The future is not fixed, though it may appear that way in hindsight. You will remember, detective, that the Cards predicted a lovelorn future for you, but then with a wider perspective, you learned that it would not be so, but only with great sacrifice on your part. Why, even the truths of the past can be hidden from us, only known if one gains a broader perspective, if one sees everything within the milieu of context. And besides, in reality, we each write our own futures anyway, thus, we see our previous predictions as coming true in our lives when they happen," she tried to explain.

Needing more concrete examples she returned to the detective's predictions, "Perhaps, you adopt a two-year-old boy in 1906 – and have an eight-year-old son in 2012. If it had been a girl instead, would you have told yourself, ' _close enough, my prediction was right_ ,' or might you not think so even if it was off by a few years? In making the prediction you reveal your deepest hope, to a have son, to have a child… to have this woman as your wife, as your love. As the architect of your life, you work to make it so. Is it so surprising when it comes true?"

William and Julia shared a look, she had them.

The gypsy teachings continued, "Consider the Cards telling that you would get the woman you loved, but only with great sacrifice. Perhaps you might have chosen differently than you did, for I am certain that at this point you have decided what it is you believe you sacrificed to have her…" Lady Minerva paused.

William looked to Julia. They had discussed this – he believed it had been his willingness _not_ to have children that he had sacrificed. His thoughts were betrayed as he dropped his eyes to their children before looking back to his wife, then receiving Julia's telling nod.

The gypsy stepped over a few steps, noting if their eyes followed. They did – even the little toddler, they were still on board. "Consider that you could have chosen to move to Buffalo after her…" Lady Minerva said, observing the couple's shared look of wonder at her knowing such things.

She leaned towards them and added, "I do read the papers, particularly those involving such interesting people as yourselves. I followed it all… your help, detective, in unveiling the murder of a child in her hospital in Buffalo, later, so many times…" Lady Minerva shook her head with her own astonishment with their story, "each of you arrested, charged with murder yourselves, and the whole ordeal with a murderess who supposedly escaped at your hand, detective, at the same time – your love married to another, and you disappeared, then her husband killed, the big murder trial, your declarations of undying love for each other, the Queen's Hotel…" Lady Minerva hesitated with this one, still flabbergasted by it, "and in that story I learned what I believed to be your sacrifice, detective, a tough decision to make for a man as moral and religious as yourself, or perhaps it was whatever transpired when you were in the clutches of that horrible, treacherous villain James Gillies… and then the papers told, unique and remarkable, your marriage, your children, even another psychic reading your astral charts and making predictions of her own."

Pausing there, Lady Minerva took a deep breath, brought her mind back to what she had been saying. "If you had followed your love to Buffalo detective, doing so would likely have stopped her engagement to Dr. Garland, the trade-off for sacrificing your home and your friends and the job you love in Toronto," Lady Minerva explained, adding more fuel to her point, the point that choices are made and any one of them could be seen as pivotal. Then she sighed and worried about being able to make it visible… clear. _Fortun_ ately _(one of Lady Minerva's favorite words)_ , she had an idea!

Rubbing her hands together, revealing her anticipation, Lady Minerva settled her gaze on William. "Detective, I have been privy to your office on two occasions – in both of them there was a drawing board in use."

William clamped his lips together and nodded. He was famous for using drawing boards to work out cases – so much so that Mr. Meyers had just used this fact in this tangled case to set him up as bait for their enemy spies. The thought bubbled up curiously, " _ **Two**_ _occasions? I remember the time when we had brought all the members of the circus into the stationhouse to find the murderer of the tiger tamer, but I don't think there was anoth… Oh, of course, Julia would have been in my office when Lady Minerva came calling…"_

The gypsy woman had marched excitedly over to another section of the tent, all Murdoch eyes following her as she went. She invited them to join her at the entry into a different section of the enclosure. Speaking as a grand presenter, she explained, "Tarot Cards are laid out much like the drawing boards I have seen in your office, detective." She pulled back a large tarp hanging from the ceiling.

Voila – there before them was a blackboard. Drawn on it there were diagrams, and some writing, math calculations…

Lady Minerva had continued talking, "I'm sure you use the board to see what happened from a broader perspective – each detail or fact within its context, but consider this… could you not also use the board _to see what likely_ _ **will**_ _happen,_ as well?

 _William's brain darted off in multiple directions. Not only could he use his chalkboard notes to predict what would happen in the future, he often had done so – sometimes the diving leading him to hurry off to one place or another to catch a murderer who was about to kill again, or escape. But his brain also was caught by the specific drawings on the board before him right now, for William Murdoch's mind rushed to tackle any puzzle it encountered, and solving the mystery of what these plans were for had popped up instantly as a goal._

Quickly, he recognized that the diagram represented a circus act, a cannon drawn at one end of the board. Off to the side, there were solved equations for trajectories and angles and required amounts of explosives, all designed, it seemed, to land a human cannonball (of a given mass labeled at 150 lbs.), into a nest-like mess drawn of purely squiggles and scratches at the far end of the board (labeled to be 120 ft. away from the cannon).

Seemingly not paying attention to Lady Minerva's analogies between his use of drawing boards and her use of Tarot Cards, William declared, "This is an act I'd like to see!" his gorgeous brown eyes sparkling noticeably, particularly to the two women in the group.

Not hiding her annoyance at the deviation from her lecture, Lady Minerva informed, "Rocketing Rush is performing it at the top of the hour."

William checked his watch.

 _The detective's interest made Lady Minerva consider using the human cannonball calculations to make her point. In a way, the drawings predicted the future, the calculations made to land Rush on his target. But another point about predicting the future could be made using them as well. If one were to pull back and consider it all from a wider perspective, perhaps Rush would not land in the targeted Fairy Floss as he had planned, for there are many, many factors involved. Maybe the wind was not considered in the planning, or he had gained weight since then, or someone had replaced his dynamite with a dud. And so, the future was not wholly predictable, hence, not fixed, only likely…_

Deciding not to dwell on the other circus performer's pre-drawn plans, Lady Minerva flipped the board over to reveal its blank side. "Another way of thinking about it is this. Cards are laid, and we see. But, there is more than one way to see," she said, letting her eyes travel from face to face. The little children were mesmerized, but seemed more enchanted with the game and the story than engaged in thinking it through. The two adults, however, nodded. She lifted a piece of chalk, speaking as she drew. "Say you hold a candle for someone… In your case, detective, it is for the doctor here."

William glanced to Julia and bowed, tilting his hat, making her smile. They looked back to the board.

Lady Minerva's lines on the board, symmetrical, curved… _having planted the image of holding a candlestick in their subconscious minds, the psychic was confident they would see the candlestick she drew..._

 **}{**

Finished with her picture, Lady Minerva concluded, "And so, you see the Cards telling of your secret, hidden, deepest truth… your desire for your love."

"Yes. Yes. If you draw a candlestick," William argued, the frustration detectable in his tone, "then I will see a candlestick. Does that predict the future?"

The fortuneteller answered him, "Yes, if you understand that it is your strongest desire, and so it is what _you_ will see, and what _you_ will work to make so… thus one can predict that you will have the love you seek someday." Lady Minerva went on, "But, this is in the narrowest of visions, taking into account the least of all possibilities, free from the confines of complexity and expansiveness, not to mention time. It sits there, still and undeniable before you. Do you see it, the ripples on its edges to better enhance the grip of the fingers?" she asked as she ran her finger along an edge of the drawing.

Minerva told herself she was on track, to stick to the detective's perspective, for the doctor appeared to be wholly aware of it… two birds, one stone. So she said, "Many years ago, detective, I told you that the future is not fixed, when you doubted… after having your fortune predict a lovelorn future, and then the Tarot Cards revealed a further truth… that you would have the woman you loved, but only with great sacrifice. You see, the future unfolds from what already exists, but it follows rules… boulders roll downhill, positive attracts negative…" She turned and looked knowingly from the detective to the doctor and added, "When water meets fire there is steam." _Lady Minerva's smile reminded of Leonardo da Vinci's_ Mona Lisa.

The look between William and Julia sunk deeper momentarily. It seemed Lady Minerva had taken heed of even the details of Madge Merton's recent articles.

"And so, if you look from a broader perspective, while attempting to stay within the bounds of the rules as you know them, you can see more. Perhaps instead, you're looking at it from the point of view of two – two people – a relationship, an intimate… close bond…" the gypsy woman hinted.

Julia got it quickly. "Oh, I see!" she gasped, "It's two faces." Julia traced out one of the curved lines. "Here's the forehead… and the nose…directly across from the other person's nose."

"Yes," William saw it too. He lifted up his son. "Do you see two people's faces looking at each other?" he asked the little four-year old.

"Are they kissing?" Katie asked from the floor – she saw it too.

"Perhaps," her mother answered her. "Do you think they are?" she added.

"Like you and Daddy?" the little one returned the question.

William blushed slightly, and Lady Minerva – seer of deepest truths – noted it instantly. "The Cards do predict a lively… attraction, between you two," she said, as if to the air.

Julia giggled. "I guess it depends on whether Daddy has let his whiskers grow too long or not," she jabbed, adding a gentle poke to William's ribs as she said it.

"Yes, there is quite a spark and sparkle between you, of that the Cards have not been wrong," Lady Minerva commented on their chemistry. "Now, if you hope to get seats together, you'd best be off for Rocketing Rush's Human Cannonball Show," she changed the subject.

Julia handed Chelsea to William and turned to the gypsy woman. She took her hand, looked into the older woman's eyes. "I must thank you Lady Minerva. I hope you know how much of a difference you made for me… for us," she said.

Lady Minerva's smile revealed the truth as she waved away the words to mix in with the fabric of the world. "I only lay the Cards, doctor," she humbly replied.

"Yes, I too thank you, Lady Minerva," William added, reaching up to tip his hat to her.

"You're welcome," came her simple answer.

And with that, the Murdoch's hurried off to see the man who would be shot from the cannon, to see if Rocketing Rush had predicted his future well, to see if he would land on his mark in the gigantic cloud of puffy, pink, cottony fake fairy floss at the other end of the showgrounds.

If they had glanced back, they would have seen Lady Minerva flip over the Cards answering Julia's question, the gypsy's face being taken by such a wonderful smile…

)

Rocketing Rush hurled through the sky.

After their discussion with Lady Minerva, William and Julia agreed jokingly that the circus performer could add fortunetelling to his list of attractions, for Rocketing Rush had exploded out of his cannon, flown seventy-feet up into the air, soared across the showgrounds, at an impressive speed, William figuring it being was as much as fifty miles per hour, and landed with an inaudible thud, the sound being drowned out by the roaring of the crowd, in a humungous makeshift bulls-eye of fake pink cotton candy. Almost instantly the children's amazed declarations with the show were followed by their happy requests.

"Can we get some fairy floss, Mommy?" William Jr. hoped.

"Oh please," Katie jumped in her seat with her pleading too.

Julia looked to William, "It is a circus after all," she said.

He smiled. "It is indeed, as life often is," he replied, "Three rings and all."

Taking their leave of their seats, on route to buy the children some spun-sugar candy, _unable not to_ , _William's thoughts wandered to considered the human cannonball act as it related to the case. Internally he cringed with the memory of Schiergen's dead body on the morgue slab and his discovery of the man's heart, broken-off and ruptured, and dropped down to the bottom of his abdominal cavity._

As he handed the circus vendor the payment for the cotton candy, he asked, "Doctor, did it seem to you that the force the body underwent, um, when fired from the cannon… Would it have been sufficient…?"

She knew exactly where her husband, _ever the detective_ , was going. "Do you mean, could our victim in the pond at the Golf Club have been shot from a cannon rather than fallen from an airplane?" she queried, her tone stirring him, him sensing a teasing and an admiration all rolled into one.

He nodded, his attention pulled for a second to the lovely sight of his two older children ripping off fluffy pieces of fairy floss, each offering their little sister a piece. He leaned down and lifted the baby into his arms.

"Well," _Julia replayed the sight of Rocketing Rush's body sailing through the air and impacting the landing target_ , "I doubt it. He would hit the ground hard, for sure, but the damage…" she wrinkled her face skeptically and shook her head, "I don't expect it would be nearly as destructive…" Her eyes dazzled him as she held his gaze during the pregnant pause and then added, "…detective."

"As I had assessed as well. Thank you, doctor," her husband answered her with a charming bow.

 _It was amazing how_ shop-talk _stirred their more romantic connections… always had, probably always would._

Julia ripped off a piece of the sticky, fuzzy food and handed it to William. He declined, she noticed, with a bit of a repulsed twitch. _She wondered how long the particular odor, the sweet smell of cooked sugar… of candy, would be so disturbing to him after this awful nightmare._

Julia sighed, handed the wad of fluff to baby Chelsea instead. "I often wonder, William," she said, beginning their walk to exit the park and head home after the fun-filled circus adventure, "if it is not the sense of smell that gets deepest into our souls."

"Mm," he joined her in her thoughts.

Her voice became animated and engaging as she went into more detail. "When I studied in Vienna, there was talk of Brocca's studies and there being a particular part of the brain for language. Perhaps the part of the brain that functions for smell is deepest…"

"The location of those particular neurons, you mean, in the brain?" he asked, interrupting, letting her know he had kept up on the latest discoveries in neuroscience.

"Yes," she replied. _My, she did so love this man._ She leaned close and said, "The scent of you, for instance, does have a profound, deep, effect on my brain, almost like I'll lose consciousness it's so delicious."

 _So quickly, his body jolted to alert – completely and totally alive. Images charged through his mind, of making love with her… memories, so luscious… her sounds, her smell in his brain, swirling it, spinning it._

His voice had abandoned him, and so he told her that he agreed by using a just a nod and a clamping together of his lips. He cleared his throat, managed to scratch out, "It'll be past the children's bedtime, um, when we get home…" And he hoped… no… he saw, she understood what he was wishing for.

"Yes," she answered his beckoning, "It will be right to bed for them," she whispered close to his ear, hoping the children would not hear her words so as to stave off their protests.

"Very good," he said. He reached down and scooped his other daughter up into his arms as well. Julia took hold of William Jr.'s hand, his fairy floss now down to easily handled mere filaments on the little stick. Notably, the Murdoch's pace picked up.

) (

The celebration party for Detective Murdoch's safe return in full swing, Julia announced their final activity for the night. "Tradition holds, here in the Murdoch family household, that there will be hot chocolate and stories before the children go to bed," the hostess explained, "Tonight, we invite you to join in."

Receiving gasps and nods of approval, guests were brought outside to find, laid out on the grass in the backyard under the twilight sky, that there were numerous picnic blankets scattered about for them, and delicious, warm, hot chocolate to be served.

"Tonight," Julia said, "besides thanking each and every one of you, William and I would also like to thank… our lucky stars."

It was a magical experience, more and more stars twinkling to light as the pink and deep blue hues descended. Moonless, the luminescence of the stars was magnified, and the cool night air rolled in, making the warmth of the cup in one's hand welcomed.

Chelsea nestled into her mother's lap.

Margaret commented on the baby's sleepiness.

So soft, the toddler's high-pitched voice tugged at every adult heart around, as Chelsea asked, "Berry Bear, Mommy?"

The child's father quickly explained to the group, "She's asking for her stuffed bear. It's called Berry Bear."

George volunteered go into the basement playroom to get it for his goddaughter. While he was down there, he spied Detective Murdoch's workroom, and curiosity won him over, and he clicked on the light to explore. There, on the drawing board – his friend and mentor's latest ideas…

 _So interesting_ , George stepped closer, " _What's this?"_ Answering himself he decided it was a sort of adjustable length razor. The drawing depicted placing the blades underneath a metal mesh, and at the side there was a knob to turn to control how close to the blades the mesh laid, controlling how far in the hairs would go. _It would allow a man to control the length of his stubble!_ George found himself rubbing his own afternoon shadow. " _Astounding!"_ he thought.

A different invention occupied the other half of the drawing board. Clearly, it was a bicycle, the innovations being the adjustments made to it. Its wheels were oddly thick, and the pattern of grooves in the tires were drawn to exaggerate their depth and tooth-like design. " _Better grip,_ " George thought. And there were huge springs… "For suspension," he figured it, in a whisper, to himself. _Flatter handlebars_ , he noted. In the background, drawn behind the specialized bike, George thought to himself as he studied the sketch that the detective could likely have been an artist if he had wanted to be, for the drawing was realistic and beautiful, there was drawn an uphill, curvy, leaf-littered, mountain trail. It was so inviting he wanted to walk right into it. " _A bike for mountains,_ " he grasped the plan.

George sighed, backed away, Berry Bear in hand, his heart warm and beaming in his chest. He would rejoin the party.

Then, _click_ , the light went out, for here, back at the drawing board, we have finally reached it…

The End.

 _ **Too bad the whole Goggle Earth thing never took off, huh?**_

)) ((

Dear Reader,

I realize my writings as of late have become quite intricate and long, and as such require a dedication and attention from the reader that can be demanding. If you have made it is this far, you have been on an epic venture… _with me_. And I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I write these stories because, to my own surprise, I have found it brings me great pleasure. But, I don't just write them, rather, I put my message in a bottle, as it were, and send it out to sea, with the hope to _see_ in a sense, from my deserted island, whether or not I can touch others in the world. If you happened to find this bottle, and you picked it up and you read my note, consider adding to it and throwing the bottle back into the sea. Then, someday, others, and even myself, may read it and know that I traveled this journey, not alone, but in your company.

The real-life way to do this is to write a review.

Thank you,

The secret voice from the page


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